when all is fog pale and gray numb from lack of texture because there is none

Farming is good fences Farming is sacrifice

From the cathedral of soil I am drawn to the roots of plants. Through cambium I rise, the sun beckons. The winds move me, rivers in the sky.

Food and fiber. Farmer and rancher. Music player and dancer.

Good is happening Lest we forget

Do not bury me far from the leaves of the forest floor. Let me decay quickly                                            to live on in the lives of others.

A table full of laughter Mouthful of smiles with a roasted squash on the way