Detail

The weight of cold water in two buckets, the familiar ache in my muscles, every day, the sun just up, walking down the lane to the edge of the woods, the clear cascade of water into the pigs’ trough, their little grunts, the trees behind me orange with sunlight, the sky diamond-blue over Tully Mountain, wind in my face, the scent of spring hay and old barn, chickens talking, cows eating, early morning.