Remembering the Mud

Staring at the gravel pile near the barn, I try to remember the mud.

The grass is dormant, the earth, cracked and hard. The boot-sucking mud of spring is gone.

I remember where the mud was deepest and direct the tractor and its bucket load of gravel to those areas.

Each gate area receives a bucket load of gravel. It is clean and white and loose.

But with rainfall and the tamping of thousands of sheep hooves, it will work into the earth and make for easier going next spring.