The Farm | Part I

A life of mud-caked boots and calloused hands. People will ask me why and I simply invite them to watch the sunrise spill gold across these fields, to taste vegetables pulled straight from soil that feels like an extension of myself.
February 17, 2024

The snow started falling around dusk, showing no signs of stopping. I'm sitting by the window watching it transform the yard into something from another time. My picnic table has disappeared under a soft white blanket, just the outline of its shape still visible beneath the snow. That night I watched Winter Light (1963) and drank tea until midnight.