This is a very pretty cow.
Last week was Spring Break, and I spent most of it outside, hoeing soil, planting seeds, digging rocks, and of course- doting on my darling baby chickens. Out there in the sun and the fresh air and the birdsong, I couldn-t help but wonder how humans have gotten so far off track. It wasn-t that long ago that most people did this kind of work every day. It wasn-t a relaxing hobby, it was survival. How did we become convinced that it was better to spend eight hours beneath the fluorescent lights than to feel the sun on your shoulders? Who decided that it was preferable to gaze catatonically at a computer screen than to witness the magic of bean sprouts bursting through the soil, unfurling their delicate green necks, and opening their faces to the sky? Being outside, growing plants, feeding chicks, using your muscles and your mind and your heart to coax fruit from the Earth - all of it feels right in some fundamental, supposed-to-be kind of way.
And then a friend of mine sent me a
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