My new chicks have found life a bit more harrowing the past few days. They finally got big enough that they seemed ready to endure the inevitable pecking order process of integration with the big mamas in the coop. Gladys and Nimbus (my four year olds) have not exactly been welcoming, but they haven’t done any real damage either. A lot of squawking goes on, and the little ones are often huddled in the corner, but no blood has been drawn and feathers seem to be intact. Soon all will be forgotten and everyone will know where she stands in the pecking order.
Meanwhile I’m working on this series of chicken paintings, not confining myself to the colors a photograph might capture, but going for the oversized, the frenetic, the tempest in a teapot, the presence of a warm heartbeat held in my hand while those alarmingly open eyes fix themselves on me.