Day 7
Blas rested his arms on the fencepost, looking out over the acres he had worked today. His trusty shovel propped next to him, he examined his hands for any signs of blisters or slivers, but found none. Well, at least there's that, he thought to himself. Playing the piano after a hard day of digging was never easy, but slivers always made it worse.
Easing the shovel over his shoulder, Blas turned and headed back toward the small farmhouse. He stopped near the coop to throw some scratch down for the chickens, and gathered the few eggs Bonnie had missed earlier. She was finding almost all of them these days. He wondered when she'd be brave enough to check that red hen's box.
Slowly, enjoying the last few rays of the spring sun, he climbed the back steps and carefully removed his boots. Would it be Chopan tonight or Lloyd Webber? He wouldn't know until after supper.
Easing the shovel over his shoulder, Blas turned and headed back toward the small farmhouse. He stopped near the coop to throw some scratch down for the chickens, and gathered the few eggs Bonnie had missed earlier. She was finding almost all of them these days. He wondered when she'd be brave enough to check that red hen's box.
Slowly, enjoying the last few rays of the spring sun, he climbed the back steps and carefully removed his boots. Would it be Chopan tonight or Lloyd Webber? He wouldn't know until after supper.
Comments
Post a Comment