Sunrise over Amazing Grasses Family Farm The mad Artist wields His brush, Painted colors rush, To life and give flush, Before the quiet autumn hush. The life seems to pour, As colors fall to the floor, To be seen no more, Outside the dark, grey door. Brightness from below, Sun upon the snow, High, cold clouds blow, Flakes and ice appear to grow. The man melts with little seen, Underneath, pale, grey green, Hides life in dark unseen, Waits for warmth and to careen. Buds on branches show, Patience starts to grow, Trickles, streams and veins flow, Bringing fruits of melted snow. Sprung to life it springs, Bees, birds, sound rings, Lush green flings, Its gift bounty brings. Green growth gives one last rush, Underneath the Painter's brush. The mad Artist wields His brush, before the quiet autumn hush. More poetry is available from James M. Hahn in The Last Dragon and Other Poems available now. My new book of cryptogram puzzles " Secret Messages from the Saints " is avai
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Here we have a wet sock (name for the mesh bag) full of "spent grains". Large beer manufacturers (that is what they are whereas we are beverage artists, libation specialists) sell their grains to the farmers who in turn feed it to their livestock. I have fed some grain to our chickens but usually they start walking funny and can't stay on the roost. So, I use the grains in cooking. It's great in bread, rolls, or any baked thing of that nature. I use it in pizza dough, waffles, and muffins very often. Just add a cup of spent grains to whatever it is you're making. 
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