cows, beef, cattle, beets, strawbs and rhubarb pies baking
refurbished old oven cost more than my truck
boots i love cowgirls’
boots i love myself
why should i give you my words for free
when you could buy the book
is that what you are really doing, farming?
down on the ranch, i prefer it Santa Barbara style
grape growing wines old
vines and grafting and honey-dripping slow
goats, too, for fromage avec herbs de provence
farmhouse quaintly dilapidating under the tuscan sun
i prefer champagne, foxy bubbles are best
tiny bubbles remind me of dad
it seems all they talk about is how to disagree, and what we disagree on
no more for me i want to talk about what we agree on
happy words feel deep inside words
emotions some good some just dialogue
like that scene from sideways where curly blonde doesn’t properly emote, sappy only and not really drunk on good wine. Real people don’t say those words that way; i mean i may’ve said those verbatim, but i’d be smirking or loathing, then cuddling and laughing.
I don’t mean to offend any one gentleman, or his perspective, but disagreeing is almost all i hear these days and i want to agree on what we can all enjoy. I know, I don’t really get the whole train of thought thing either, particularly yours, and all these folks say how they love the logic is more like my husbands disagreements, uhg.
“fuck, fuck, fuck!” my 7-year old screamed as she wiped the farmhouse table clean of her Candy Land game. Yes, she gets it from her mother, I fear, thought his mom with her accent.
I don’t want to talk about farming words now, instead the beach i will go walk, feel, write, know the words my father taught me as his ashes crash at my feet. I wonder, how do they say “fuck” on the farm? “mate, mate, mate!?” just dumb.