It seems to get harder to put up a blog post as time goes on. There are no great things happening, and the smaller things are without merit of being immortalized by grand prose.
That said, I decided to write about something I’ve been thinking about for awhile. Meaninglessness describes it perfectly, and maybe that is what warrants my taking the time to espouse.
A week or so ago I used our manure fork to scoop up some of the horses’ contributions to our wild acres. I filled the wheelbarrow and rolled it up the hill near the house with plans to convert its contents to something more useful, like compost. It still sits where I parked it and I walk past it several times a day. Plagued with a mind that never shuts off, I think and think about it and finally came up with something blogworthy. Over time I've polished those thoughts to perfection.
That pile of dung all pushed together in a tight mass makes me think of the phrase, “Hoard the Feces.” Putting those syllables together in a different way, I come up with “Heed the Forces.” And strangely enough both Karla and I use both of those phrases when we get ready to “Feed the Horses.” As a matter of fact, the latter of those two phrases is almost never used; Hoard the Feces is our favorite utterance.
It certainly shows the profound respect we have for that daily task.