Relative Something

The day after the classic scramble to get a full field of hay baled and stacked under a roof has a disorienting feel to it. There is an obvious sense of relief in the reality that the shed is now stocked with provisions to feed our horses all winter. It’s like everything that needs to be done, is done.

But, it’s not.

It feels sort of comical to now have to mow the short grass of the lawn, a mere pittance of a harvest compared to that hay-field.

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