It's a wet and cold Friday morning. I was outside with the dogs right at dawn and watched the sky turn from yellow to bright red and remembered that saying, "Red sky at night, shepherds' delight. Red sky at morning, shepherds' take warning." I took a long draw off my mug of coffee, and the wind picked up all around me. Blustery, like Winnie-the-Pooh-Blustery. It felt like the scene right before the sky opens up in a Sci-Fi thriller. Between that folklore about sky coloration and the movies in my head I had a whole mythology churning. It had to be a bad day, right? All the signs point to bad. The dogs didn't notice. They just played in the leaves and romped around. Gibson had herded sheep, took a dump, ate a biscuit - life was pretty great. They were like the band playing while the Titanic sunk into shark-infested waters. A duck walked by and Friday chased it. Gibson followed, throwing mud and water everywhere - including my coffee mug.
I took another long draw anyway. I guess no one gives sheepdogs the memo about portentous mornings.
The blog of author Jenna Woginrich of Cold Antler Farm. Where pop culture meets agriculture! Here she writes about her adventures following her feral life as a self-employed writer, homesteader, archer, falconer, equestrian, martial artist, hunter, spinner, brewer, geek, and real-life Game of Thrones Extra. She loves movies, music, running far, and eating animals.
On twitter @coldantlerfarm