It’s a dull, cloudy day here at Rancho DeNada, partially because of the weather.
That’s the gun range. Which I rebuilt after some assholes destroyed it. Picasso said every act of creation begins with an act of destruction. Maybe so.
Let’s tear some shit up.
Delaney wants to rescue old dogs and keep them out here on the farm. I told her one old dog out here waiting to be rescued is enough. Maybe I need one of those posters. It would look something like this. And sound something like this.
I can hear the Chuck-will’s widow over by the corner pond. He hangs out over there, I hang out over here. Sometimes we hear each other. I heard the coyotes earlier. Again.
I momentarily forgot how much I dig Jimbo Mathus‘ music. Then I heard this today.
Come find me, and we’ll have a good ole time.
I can’t even imagine what the end of this COVID-19 situation is going to look like. I’m not even sure how I want it to look.
But it’s going to be different. For sure.