Sunday, February 11, 2018



Twenty-two degrees, and as good as any summer's day, in a soft mat of brown grass, flat on my back, no cigars, no ticks, no poison ivy, just sunshine so warm and cozy, and  winter air so clean in my lungs, like fresh made from the hand of God. Over my shoulder, my horse stands content. It's midday, and the sun stands aside, that I might gaze up to the pure blue heaven.