feeling woolly

The sun is shining, but the winds are a little angry and fierce. I usually spend Sunday mornings outside drinking coffee, eating eggs, and reading the New York Times. Not so yesterday. It was too blustery to even get on my bike and ride downtown to pickup the paper. I was forced to read it online which lacks a little sparkle. On Sundays. Reading the papers online is certainly more eco-friendly, but on Sunday mornings I like my fingers to turn black and leave prints on everything. It feels right. So why am I feeling woolly? Over the course of the summer I have purchased two sheepskins from Pinwheel Farm at our local farmer’s market. Natalya is a kind gardner/sheep farmer who lives just on the outskirts of Lawrence. I never thought that I would own a dead animal skin. Let alone purchase one. But Natalya uses every bit of her lambs and sheep. You can special order the lamb’s meat; buy wool to make felt (I also purchased the wool); and then there are the sheepskins. Thick, warm and snowy white. I’ve had them lying about the house in various locations. And I always make little detours when my feet are bare so that I can walk over them. It’s a sensation that I can’t get enough of. . .nor can my cat, Miss Carlos. But last night, as the wind pressed its way in through my poorly insulated home, I grabbed the skins off of the floor and threw them on top of my bed covers. A girl has never known a better nights sleep.

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