There is something about a cold and bitter evening.
The breath you take in is searingly sharp, you are happy that your face is covered partially by a mask yet~
You curse the fact that your nice insulated leather gloves don't insulate a damn thing in these temps.
Before you went out for chores, the thermometer read -6 degrees. Cold, but not so terrible.
It is the light breeze that freezes your hands into painful stumps as you fork out hay and carry buckets of fresh water to the two jacks.
Unbelievable how quickly hands freeze.
I stopped for a few moments to watch the sun go down as I stuck my bare hands through the pockets of my coveralls and under two sweatshirts to gain some feeling back into them.
I wanted badly to walk up to the ridge and watch the incredible show of light and clouds as the sun dipped...
...as the temps dipped.
I shrugged my hands quickly back into the glove and finished the chores.
Morris was happily running around greeting the hound dogs by poking his face into their door flaps.
The hounds stayed put inside their houses.
Darkness settling down onto the farm.
The temperature read -12 as I stepped into the back hallway.