image: Pablo Picasso
There once was a chicken, silver and gray. It was broody and uncooperative at our friends’ farm. We got it for free; we thought a change of scenery might help it. But in sixteen months it never laid one egg. Worse, it became tangled up in an underground egg-eating ring — a ring that we recently busted.
Over at my other blog: an ode to autumn suppertime in the Pacific Northwest.
