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 fre...