Check out this gorgeous Flickr photo by josimar1986.

The front of the barn is flooded in sunlight. I'm sitting on one of the 800-pound bales of Timothy grass, awash in a sea of gold, soaking it up like a sponge, eyes half closed, sipping a cold hard cider. The bottle's got a picture of a woodchuck on the front. I'm smiling to myself, thinking that's pretty darn funny--Woodchuck Cider. My husband's come down to load up the round bale feeder with one of these big bales. He's jangles the keys to the tractor.

"Come one," he says, "let's go."

"Nah," I'm feeling lazy, but don't quite fess up in the face of all of that industriousness. The horses after all just polished off their big bale a little while ago, so they're not exactly starving. "Let's just sit for a minute and enjoy the sun."

He hops up on the bale next to me, not requiring too much convincing. Sips his beer. We don't say anything. Boone the barn kitten sneaks up on us. He lands in the patch of sunlight between us, purring up a storm. Rubs up against Dennis. Then me. Alternating back and forth between the two of us because that way he gets his furry back scratched real good.

The sun is warm on my face. I scooch up next to my husband, put my arm around him, head on his shoulder, close my eyes--all the better to breathe in the scent of soap and sweat, hay, horses, pinon. The hens scratch in the dirt at the foot of the big bale, making happy chicken sounds. Almost like earthbound doves cooing.

We don't move for a long time.