m wood pen

HAVE PEN, WILL TRAVEL

It can never come too soon for me.  The leaves falling to crisp footsteps and the blue icy frosting that sweeps across my pasture signal the trumpet call. Stacking firewood beside the wood-burning stove, retrieving the woolen scarves lovingly packed home from Scotland, reversing the order of stacked shoes to bring the Wellies and LLBean boots up …

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