The farmer across the road from us has been raking and bailing hay all day. I’ve been watching him go back and forth in front of my window, picking up the rows of hay and depositing big round bales along the edge of the field.
The hay was so tall, it hid the deer that grazed and slept in it. The deer that Bud loved to bark at. I don’t know how he knew they were there. I suppose he either saw what I couldn’t or smelled what I can’t.
But now, even I’ll be able to see the deer when they come out in eat in the evenings. And I’m sure to see the black cat too, whose been here at least as long as we have and hunts in the field but never crosses the road.
I love the smell of fresh cut hay.