Springtime on the chuck wagon trail.
Early morning, miss the sounds of chickens waking, cows bumping up against stanchions, waiting to be milked. Miss the smell of hay dust filtering down through the haymow floor. Remember sitting in the loft door, looking out over the farm, hills, fields, gullies. Miss the real country. Time to go find it again.
Hey! you ate all the toast! (I did)