Recently seen: "creativity takes courage" Ain't that the truth?

I've been up all hours and finding myself inspired by SarahJane, a children's artist. She designs fabrics and her style leans nautical, traditional, vaguely preppy, and sweethearted. Its been so long since I indulged fabric whimsy. Resist. RESIST! resist? Uh oh, also see: Alewives Fabrics

I'm unclear what to do for the sick chicken. She's spent three days in an egg box resting. Every time I go check on her I'm braced to find her dead. Yet, she keeps improving. Though, in a worrying tentative way that doesn't inspire much confidence. She doesn't move much, sleeps all day. She puts her face down sometimes. A face down chicken is just not what you want to see.

For two days I could get her to eat nothing. Then, this past evening, Dear Girl convinced Face Down Chicken to drink several sips of milk. Nothing would do but milk straight directly from the goat, still warm. Tulip was happy to oblige. Dear Girl has the touch.

I held our chicken in my lap this afternoon and bathed her face in warm saltwater. Her feet feel fevered. The swelling on the side of her head is receding. Her eye socket, though, is not even close to opening. The clump of bloody dried goo isn't even my concern. Its the color of the situation, the wrong texture, and the swelling. But worst, its her most tender tiny small little moans of pain that only happen when I'm trying to help. I put her back in her box.

At night the baby chicks crowd around her for bedtime sleepovers. Like children piling in around grandmother. Tonight she put a wing over one of them, their beaks rested side by side on the lip of the egg box, face out to the fresh evening air.

I fear I'm not helping. Not offering help is worse, though, isn't it? First, do no harm.