But the sun came up all red and pink and gold, causing sparkles on the snow drifts, the brown frozen earth appears a softer brown than the melted dark mud will appear (if we warm up.)
The wind-snapped and bedraggled corn reflected the morning light, echoing the glow coming over the mountains, wherein lays Gunnison, Colorado, and a wee bit closer, the Black Canyon.
Terry is going out to check the corn, thinking maybe this cold has driven down the moisture. While he is doing that I will go sweep out the bed of the grain truck, then with the bed facing the rising sun we are hoping the wood will dry.
If this all comes together, maybe, just maybe…harvest can begin.
Oh, well, it is what it is.
Wishing you a good one today,