running down the road like loose electricity
there's nothing grosser than the smokehouse when it's dirty. eugh. i look like i've been attacked by a grease monster and all i can smell is the nauseauting combination of bleach and slightly overdone fish and brine.
however, in less euuugh-news, the smokehouse is now clean and happy and awaiting a lovely round of fish to be smoked. the weather certainly is perfect for it: this morning when i got up, everything was covered in a heavy layer of frost. the sun made it look like they trees were bedecked in daimonds, and even the crows were silent for once.
i ran out in barefeet and took pictures.
they turned out like magic.