He sits in the throne of the grainstack and watches the pastel pinks and oranges of dawn swirl above the horizon. There is much work to be done. Fields to seed. Cows to milk. Muck to shovel. And there is only so much time to do it.
He rubs his rough hands together. He rests his head on the grains and looks up at the immensity of the sky above. Only so much time. So much to do.
He closes his eyes and feels the warmth of the new day on his skin. He listens to the birds sing their morning conversations. To the slight hiss of the breeze in the grains. There is not much time at all, he thinks. I should spend it wisely.
He smiles as he drifts into a doze.
Paddy Dobson
2nd January 2022