The well-wizard also hauled an impressive pile of metal debris out of our well, clearing the space for the new pump.

The robin who owned our veggie meadow delighted in pulling up our fragile seedlings.

With our new greenhouse sheltering the growing expanse of seedling trays, my heart grew and expanded.

One of us came to tears several times. One of us stayed calm and cheerful.

We can conquer the world with just two loads of chips.

The planting beds could finally start their winter steeping, and we could brush the cobwebs off the comfy chairs, the steam drifting from our steeping cups.

Undeterred, we refocused our lens and looked toward spring.

The time of rest and reflection are upon us, and we welcome the quiet season with a sense of accomplishment and contentedness.

The panther in my ribcage started laughing and turned back into my heart.

I came here to heal.

That was how we discovered that we had a pond.

Tiny birds that I cannot name dart and flit, colorful and busy with their day.

In the 11 minutes it had taken me to go from skylight-gazer to insulated winter woman, the weather changed.

We made a simple commitment, and solutions came from every direction, each one completely unexpected and unplanned.

The pastures are turning green after the summer drought while the trees are turning golden in preparation for the cold; a changing of the guard, trading dormancy for robust vitality and vice versa, a biannual handoff amongst hillside companions.

We admire the chipper's strength and endurance; the chipper responds greedily to our hands with their opposable thumbs, repeatedly cramming branches down its feed tube.

I was looking out over our beautiful valley, hearing the birds, watching the chickens explore their new excavation, with the llamas migrating serenely past on their way to check the apple trees. . .why would I want to hurry through this task?

It's surprisingly hard to find out boy/girl llama clues on the internet.