It's a late winter morning and I am donning the barn suit, an old set of coveralls possibly dating from the seventies that I inherited from my father. I'm heading to the barn to feed horses. The nights are still long, and I don't like to make them wait until daylight for their breakfast. Life is simple in this dark, quiet time before the sunrise and its concomitant pressure to get stuff done, and delivering a few books of hay and a fresh bucket of water brings complete satisfaction, both to myself and the equines.
This is so good.