Today's mystery: the dog’s missing toenail. The husband asked me to google whether or not dogs’ toenails grow back. Yes, they do, they’re not fucking tails.

Last night the husband and I watched a bilingual show on farming contractors across the country. In one scene, a young woman drove a massive machine across a vast field, cutting up grass into neat rows that will eventually be gathered up and baled into silage for the winter. The young woman wore pearly drop earrings, and her dark hair was neatly bound with a claw composed of pearls. With her pale skin and limpid eyes, I thought of Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring.

The husband loves the smell of cut grass. There’s a photo I took of him lying among freshly mown whorls in a field in Ardara at dusk, like a pasha on velvet pillows. You can take the boy off the farm…

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