Sitting against the barn with my butt cushioned on top a clump of dried weeds and the sky nearly still with the occasional wisp of air pressing against my face and brushing away the gentle heat of sunshine that kindly warms my face. The air feels clean nearing 63°. I can almost hear nothing. I see the barren like lands that are starting to show the grasses filling in the open spaces that were once snow covered. The apple orchard just beyond the field are still sparse waiting for the coming buds that will soon fill the limbs with its foliage. I see a ground squirrel sifting through small patches of brushy knowles looking for bits of nutty seeds. The smell in the air comes up from the ravine of ceders behind the barn wafting scents of evergreen pines and hemlock. I love to feel how the day really is before I mutter up my mind and fill it with the riggers of energy that steal me away from the outdoors. I sit here slouching against this barn wood wall firmly feeling it supporting my position as I nearly dose off until the achy hardwood reminds me that I must go.
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