I’ve put the gardens to bed and shored up the chicken coop. I’ve stored the tools and stacked the pots behind the shed. I’ve left the last of the coneflower dead heads reaching toward the sky, in case finch and chickadee grow tired of…
I’ve put the gardens to bed and shored up the chicken coop. I’ve stored the tools and stacked the pots behind the shed. I’ve left the last of the coneflower dead heads reaching toward the sky, in case finch and chickadee grow tired of…
The sun hears the fields talking about effort and the sun smiles, and whispers to me, “Why don’t the fields just rest, for I am willing to do everything to help them grow?” Rest my dears, in prayer.