Fences mended with twine until there’s more time. Scrubbed water tanks filled fresh, drank down to half by noon. Shoveling muck into the cart, I would be done by now, but for the meadowlark aerials just above. But for the Canada geese inspecting the tall weeds at the edge of the pond. But for … Read more
To the land of Parrot Chickens.
What poetry and Brussel sprouts have in common.