Can’t sleep: 11 p.m., 12 a.m., 1 a.m. I have been staring at this 95-year-old ceiling for hours. Thoughts running like hounds, knowing my reprieve is outside.
I’m out the door as I toss on a pair of boots, a warm hoodie and a cap. Everything is dark except for the slight brightness of the fog on the ridgelines. I walk out into our front pasture and plop myself down on a windrow alongside…