I prepared the field last night, hauling the chain harrow to spread dung and molehills.
This morning is perfect for rolling.
A heavy mist covers the house allowing a luminous glow through the windows-
assurance of a cloudless sky.
then green again.
The mist lifts as I progress, revealing sunshine on the upper part of Creag Dubh,
its lower slopes still veiled as if for modesty.
By the time I finish my skin is chilled,
the smell of crushed grass fills my nostrils;
small rainbows hide in thinning vapour.
The day is opening.