Yet another damp-assed morning, perfect for mums, mold and ducks.
It’s dreary out, and our perpetually reclusive neighbors are IN. One can almost imagine the aroma of fresh brewed java streaming into each parlor amid the din of a blaring television.

Up yonder at an actual family farm – rare in these times – cows of many interesting color combinations troll a hillside for those late stiff-bristle greens. No need to rummage in the barn just yet. Black Angus. A Holstein mix, and some tan ones that probably have a name but maybe not; perhaps bovines can just as easily be ‘mutts’.