Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Gone farming

No more celebrating death, no more dancing on graves. Only plants make sense. And the warm black cat. And my husband's eyes upon me. And the thought of my parents. And some meals. And the fig fruit to come. And books. And friends arriving from long ago and far away. And running water. And coffee. And sunlight. And rain. 


Comments on posts older than 48 hours are moderated (for spam control) . Yours will be seen! Unless you are a troll. Serial trollers are banned.