Spring

It is spring. Or, summer, depending on how you rate the warm days. No longer dark and deep, but iridescent and expansive.

Queen Elizabeth, our mischievous little doeling.

Beauregard von Bingen, our rescue project. 

The Goat Shack. And small farm girl. 

The view from the National Forest trail behind my house. The hills are alive with the sound of music... and life, and love and color. Oh, how I love the verdant, drinkable green. 

Winter's Heart

It is winter here. Deep, dark, quiet winter. Under the heavy blanket of snow there is something brewing, beginning. I was out putting up step-in posts for the electric fence when I came across emeralds hiding beneath two feet of snow and last year's layer of dead leaves. Moss. Bright green and living, in the silence of winter.

The woods are ethereal. My own footfalls ring loud among the hibernating trees. I am an intruder.