Picked a heap of kale for chips. It’s been frozen and thawed, the deer eye it up from the sidelines. It would be theirs if it wasn’t for the high fence. Willow barks the bucks away, us both brave again in each others company.
The chickadees are still hard at work, taking advantage of the warm weather. Seeds tucked into the woodpile. A few left for when times get tough.
First the moon, then mars followed ahead by Saturn and Jupiter. If you count where we’re standing that’s five circling the sun, bright, up before the rest of the stars.
The chips were crispy and sweet. Why shouldn’t they be?