Sweet morning...

The world is hush and wrapped in fog this morning.  Old time New Englander's call this a "snow eating fog."  The stained and tattered drifts disappear bit by bit, revealing mud and muck below.

In the kitchen I slice apples, carrots, celery for rabbits.  I unwrap 4 peppermints and clutch them in my hand, surprise sweets for the horse and donkey. Red and white delights to start their day.  They call out when they see me.  Heel to toe, mindful of my gate, I navigate the ice. The stock are huddled around the hay rack, sifting through the remnants to see if there is anything left worth eating after they have rummaged it all night.

Chanel presses a warm, ticklish nicker into my palm, and lips the mint up gently. In a second she is crunching it between huge molars and leaning in to see if there is more.

The donkey is a bit more delicate.

I fill the rack with breakfast hay.

The goats dive in. It is their favorite type this morning,and they moan in delight as they bury their faces deep in the fragrant pile.

The old iron gate has its feet rooted in ice.

But there are puddles about and ducks are delighted. They waddle and mutter, rooting their flat, bellow bills through the thawing ground.

It's a sweet morning.