1 hour ago
Friday, March 11
What says "spring" more than frolicking lambs?
Lambs are one of those things that actually were never a part of my childhood in the Coastal South, but are deep, deep in my psyche. The seasons and traditions, foods, sights and smells of England and New England are firmly entrenched there, through the world of reading and from my early education. We didn't have leaves turning in autumn, or lambs being born in spring, in our world, but that was the stuff of our lives, somehow.
Years spent in many strange places has done nothing to erase that early imprinting of what the seasons "should be."
In a small city about two hours east of here, lambs are part of their world, and more so in the past. San Angelo still has many thousands of sheep. I always felt sorry for them, in their heavy fleeces, stuck in an arid and blazing hot place far from the rolling hills that are perhaps in their instinctual memories.
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