I have many thoughts, but few words to express them. This will pass, but I just have had an overall quiet blanket over my mouth and typing hands.
I am also quite worried that Little Orange has gone missing. He never misses breakfast. Last night we heard a scuffle near the porch. Perhaps he's still hiding, but his compadrés are all here and he's not. I think having the once feral, now sort of feral, creatures is hardest on my heart. I can't protect my farm from a bomb, I can't predict a fire; but I can put my sheep in at night, and the dogs in and the chickens in, and the horse and donks are safe in gated pastures. But I can't protect the ferals. I really can't protect anything from anything. It makes me feel like this painting.
