I make this trip every day, out the door, across the porch, and down the snowy path to the chicken coop.
Jupiter comes when he hears the door open, hoping for some more food or a scratch and a pet.
In the cold air, I find these gifts from our hens, still warm, clean and beautiful.
I give them gifts of scraps in exchange for their eggs, and they pick every last cantaloupe seed from the bowl.
King Henry inspects the bowl first, then urges the ladies up for a taste.
I can't imagine anything in an art gallery pleasing my eyes more than the stripes on that bowl, the bars on those hens, and that sunlight playing on the textures of old wood.
Yes, honey...I'll do the chores today, and gladly.