We opened the door and peered in at what had once been a hub of activity, our old kitchen, all tore up and abandoned.
I wrote this post in 2016 and Sheri McGregor put it in an anthology, a kind of “Chicken Soup for the Soul” for nature freaks. The essay would belong to Sowing Creek Press for a year following publication after which I could do anything I wanted with it, such as post it here on Plastic […]
“Chicken TV is keeping me sane,” she says, as we soak in that timeless world, mesmerized by their languid pecking and the occasional drop of a leaf.
“Here comes Nick,” I’d say, watching him work his way across the lawn in a slow, rolling gait.
If you had asked me even a year before could I see myself living in the American South, I would have shaken my head.