My body aches wonderfully after all the work. The smell of turned earth rich with worms and fishy water still clings to the inside of my nose, and my fingernails pound with impacted soil that seeped beyond my gloves. The night air has a stiff briskness to it and I am forced to pull up my sweater hood if I am to stay outside and see it set. I wait. I watch the fat robin drink from the bath, ignore the seeds and then sing a quiet lulling kind of tune. The chickens have puffed and perched and the dog is not yet quite asleep. The sun begins to set in our little corner of earth and clouds fill with brilliant pinks.
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