Carrots. Original public domain image from Wikimedia Commons
Lois started awake, struggling with her sleeping bag, before recalling she’d agreed to camping with Kenny. Not too keen on the northern woods, wild animals, and biting flies, but fair was fair. He’d gone to that Writer’s Conference with her, and from all appearances had a great time. Continue reading
Winslow Homer 1893
The falling snow piled around his hut, the shelter he’d built at the edge of the woods, from stone and fallen trees, meadow grass and mud, the retreat that was far enough away from the Hold that he rarely got visitors, but near enough that he could watch the lights wink out in the north tower when the weather was clear. Continue reading
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