Grass is Flesh

The college farm is filled with late summer-- acres of grass, and even a few crickets are singing.  We stopped to watch field- raised piglets leaping and tumbling in grass as they followed their mother.  A ram rested in sweet grass with no interest at all in two ewes who peacefully grazed a few feet away in the little milk cow pasture.

The little plaster figure on the left hangs on a wall in our house, and I sketched it on our way out for our late day field walk.  At bottom right is Jones Mountain, which we live halfway up on, behind some trees and fields.