Last night. It was the most picturesque definition of spring on the farm. There was a soft breeze, and warmth lingered for a short while well the sun set. I took the baskets and sought out eggs that our very free-range chickens had deposited in the old tobacco stripping rooms and elsewhere. The grown pigs chased the stray chickens that had wandered into their pen. The seventeen baby pigs slept in a pile, snoring. The horses gorged themselves on springtime grass, and ten lambs frolicked around their pasture.
There are times when you don’t need a camera to document something, because the subject is impossible to capture on a visual still. The air, the sounds, and the feeling of last night was impossible to capture on camera because it can only be truly experienced in person. And yet, I attempt to tell you about it in writing.
Words are amazing.
