Creamy – by Karinne Dadigan
The farm was creamy, absolutely creamy. The walks outside, the view from the deck, the everyday early rituals and connection with the land and animals was all a creamy sensation. You look at the moments, and the views, and you want to eat them up. The oars in the water as you kayak, the soil that runs through your hands, the cup of tea that you so strongly deserve after a long day’s work. All creamy and wonderful. Colors roaming your mind as you try to connect them to moments because the moment is just too perfect to describe with only one sense. Blends of colors, sharp and distinct ones too, even the colors you might have missed, they’re all there creating glimpses of nostalgia you’re sure to have in your future.
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No title – Justin Stamper
The Hart family farm blew cold, brown wind, sharp as a knife, through my being. It is there that the earth, strong yet malleable, co-mingled with the fresh smell of livestock in the short dense grasses that blanket New Zealand. It is there that the brown smell of earth and living things sweep indolently over the soft rolling hills, like a quilt out over the horizon. Sheltered by these hills, the brown smelling air is not yet polluted with the black, mechanical noise from rubber on asphalt, only a mere kilometre or two away.