It’s 1 AM and I’m rushing to bed.
There are not enough hours in the day.
The rooster crows, it’s time to wake, it’s 6 AM with no time to waste. I turn on the tube, check the weather and news, “The spirits are (somewhat) mildly perturbed.” By seven I’m farming, harvest and sow, these sprinklers are great, not one little crow. An hour goes by, albeit too quick, it was time to tend to my cows and my chicks. Pet, feed, rinse and repeat, just a little bit of help, well, that would be sweet. It’s a quarter to ten with not a moment to spare, an hour with kegs, to town with errands I bear.