Sympatico

Yesterday I was pottering around in the kitchen; Saint H was outside swapping the mower for the hayrake on the tractor. For no known reason I decided, "I need to go see if he needs any help", grabbed a pair of gloves and wandered outside. I found him sitting in Emma's shed, abnormally quiet and pale. I asked, "Do you need any help?" He responded, "Yes. I just dropped the mower on my foot."

This isn't the first time something like this has happened. How did I know he needed me? How does he always know when I'm not feeling well? For that matter, how does he always know when and where to look up in the sky to see hawks flying, even when they're somewhere behind him?

If there's such a thing as sharing a wavelength, I suppose we do; we've lived together now for 19 years. Yes, we do complete each other's sentences. I'm not sure that the raptors and accipiters feel it too; maybe they look down when they're overhead and say, "See, there's that guy again. Funny how we always catch a glimpse of him when we fly over this way."

I'm glad to say that, short of a nasty bruise and some stiffness, there doesn't seem to be any major damage. Thank goodness for steel-toed boots.