Our recent mornings here have been beautiful—crystal clear, and not too hot. The benefit of our almost daily storms is these pristine moments, where everything is beautiful. So I’ve been trying to spend time playing with our baby chicks, who really aren’t babies at all any more. They’re almost fully feathered.
I’ve been thinking about what it means to play chicken. The name has its origins in a game in which two drivers drive toward each other on a collision course. One must swerve, or both may die in the crash. But if one driver swerves and the other does not, the one who swerved will be called a "chicken," meaning a coward. You play the dangerous game to discover who is the bravest.
This morning we woke up to reporting that suggests Donald Trump may be indicted by the special counsel as soon as today in the January 6-related investigation. Even if it takes a little longer than that, it seems clear we are headed that direction.
And a little visual aid from Atlanta, where they’re putting up security barricades around the Fulton County Courthouse, something you see happen ahead of a major event or announcement.
Donald Trump, who, for more years and in too many situations to count has gotten away with winning at chicken seems to be out of luck. He still doesn’t seem to realize that Jack Smith isn’t about to flinch.
I’ll be checking in with you as soon as we have indictments or other important details. Until then, I’ll leave you with this adorable picture of one of our kids helping the new kitten, Tofu, make friends with the chickens.
We’re in this together,
Joyce
Chickens vs. Playing Chicken