The pond out back is drying up and lily pads are shriveled. I can still see my grandson, jeans rolled up, wading in the muck with his younger brother, looking for frogs, frog eggs and strange insects. Sorrow came in Aug, when he left this earth far too early. His memories are everywhere. The little kid goats, hysterical cries, while being weaned, blend and mix with the tears and sorrow surrounding the farm.