Pacing

There’s a pacing going on tonight. He’s my cool, calm and collected farmer and I’m pacing. I ask him all the possible what if’s, the impossibles, the catastrophes and while I really should be more of a support, he ends up shushing me, reassuring me. We’ll be fine.

But, but on a fine day, the Atlantic makes herself known to us and now they’ve said Hurricane. Were there hurricanes before or is this a new thing now? What about the cows? Do we keep them in or put them out? Oh God.

They’ll be fine.

I’ll make bread. Will I make bread?

Do so.

And torches? Do we have batteries?

We do.

What about the sheds? We’ve lost shelter with the build?

Be grand.

I’d better bring in more supplies.

Do.

What about the vets? Should I run to the vets?

No need.

It might just be a big storm. I hope so. The last one was hard. It shook us a bit. There was a bit of damage. But. But.

Somehow, you just can’t worry being married to this man. You can’t have yourself one big auld worry.

It’ll just be grand.

Stay safe. x

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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