Out to feed the cows 4 bails of hay each day before 8am.
Today. Tomorrow. Every day.
It isn’t much to do, but it is a chore. It isn’t even that cold or wet yet. It is good for me I say to myself. It is a chore that I’d rather not do, obviously, especially on days I just want sleep in.
It will get worse as the weather becomes an enemy.
November is a horrible month. It has no colour. People start singing carols and pretending to be happy.