The day is sunless,
only grey paints the sky.
The wind has picked up
a chilling edge to its knife.
Clothed in an insulated woollen jacket,
and jeans worn through at the knee,
Joseph Tiller heads to the barn
with a ladder in hand.
A barn board has been pushed out
and must be replaced,
before the snow predicted
musters up a storm.
He climbs to the milk shed’s roof,
its structure adhered to the barn,
with tools and fresh boards in hand
to patch the gaping cavity
left by wind’s twirling punch the day before.
His hands and knees throb with arthritic pain