Fireflies are daughters to the stars
And go in the countryside to catch the scent of hay
Which is the scent of God
Because it smells of work–Giovanni Cerri
Our horses are now officially pulled off the pastures for winter, relegated to smaller dirt paddocks until the fields have rested, recovered and dried sufficiently in April to bear their hooves and teeth again.
So I climb the ladder to the hay loft daily to toss down carefully stacked bales of hay placed there by our hay crew four months ago. I release the dried stems from their bondage by twine. The scent of July work hits me full force; I’m transported back to the sweaty days of hay mowing, tedding, raking and baling. It was just yesterday, so it seems, that my children and their friends were picking up these heavy bales and tossing them onto the trailer, and then bringing them into the barn.
The scent of work on the earth, like fireflies to the stars, is the perfume of heaven.