...but us chickens

My little one came, they came, they left, he came, they both left, then these came and the others too, but they left and now, this morning, the rest left as well.

Diane, at breakfast

Ernest, making garden tomato sandwiches for the road

There’s been a lot of movement at the farmhouse. My flowers were proudly on display.

But not anymore. Everyone's gone. I’m reminded of the 40s swing hit -- There ain’t nobody left but us chickens, there ain’t nobody here at all... (We don’t keep free range hens. Just the ones on the windowsill.)

Ed, too, has gone off on his Honda, to do work stuff across town.

It’s very quiet here right now. Even the farmers are gone for the day. Maybe it's too hot (again). Or maybe they just had to be somewhere else.