Sun

There is a bizarre phenomenon in Wickersham . . . the grasses grow brown and the earth drifts into the sky in a million minute particles. FarmWife says it's only dust,  but this isn't the dust I know and love. That dust sticks on coats and hooves, but this dust sticks on throats and eyes and nostrils. FarmWife waters our shed floor now, so that our trough, at least, will stay clean.

This dust is the product of one month's steady, uninterrupted sun. I am flummoxed by the question of how you 300-sunny-days-a-year people cope with the stuff!

Otherwise,  all is well in my world. I hope you can say the same!

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