Anything on the farm, facing south is covered in a thin layer of ice. That’s the direction the wind is coming from. I left the chicken coop closed this morning since the door is facing south and the hens didn’t seem to mind spending a quiet Sunday inside.
The hanging sculpture that Ed Gulley made and gave to me, has been transformed by ice too.
In a little while I’ll go out to feed the animals, but after that, I’ll be staying in too. The fires are warm and Fate and Zinnia, after our walk in the woods are quietly napping. Bud was happy to be home with a bone to chew on in Jon’s study.
I’m reading Afterparties, by Anthony Veagna So. It’s short stories about Cambodian American families who came to California after escaping the Khmer Rouge. The stories I’ve read so far are about the children and grandchildren of the refugees and how the experience of being caught between cultures.
So many short stores I’ve read are dark and depressing and these have the right to be considering the subject matter, but they’re not. They’re really colorful and vibrant have a feeling of youth and being alive. They bring me into a world that is very different from mine, but that I can in some ways also relate to.
It’s a good book to spend an icy Sunday afternoon with.