...a night...

And the queer silence outside the window, his mind unsettled.  It will rain soon.  Cold rain.  He didn't care for these nights.  The farm had only limited electricity - only to keep up a few lights and the milking equipment.  The power wouldn't work tonight.  The wind took care of that for him.  He ran a tally of items in his mind that would take priority at first light.  He hoped there wasn't a messy break in the line.

The wind kicked up fierce along the farm for about forty minutes.  He sat in his sweater and boots, tautly holding his arms together, though he tried to relax.  There was nothing he could do until pre-dawn.  The puddles would be a mix of ice and mud, and he couldn't afford a stupid slip in the dark.  He was going to force himself precaution, at least until this first front moved through.  A gust blew around both sides of the house, east and west sides - the glass and metal-ware through the house tingled like so many little bells.

'All depends on the rain', he whispered aloud in the silent kitchen.  There was warmth from the wood stove, which he tended fervently.  He used the wetter hickory tonight so it would burn longer.  Plus he knew he was over-tending it - drier wood would be gone in minutes the way it kept poking around.

The storm door slammed outward, hitting the side of the house, making him start.  He flexed his arms to keep them limber in the frigid room.  His dog had been asleep for hours now.  He stared at him with disregard, 'How could the dumb animal be so peaceful?'.  His face never knew anything than simple trusth, 'Shouldn't be the other way round?'.

The window's glass gave a bit.  It was the warmth versus the light touch of the cold front: a little breeze, but it was the coldest of the storm.  It would rain soon.  He moved about the kitchen to put rags underneath the doors.  The door's to the kitchen were already closed and bolted up.

He sat in the bosom of the high-back bench to sleep.  The night would have to take care of itself.  The storm was going to do what it must.  There would be little sleep tonight, but he would be up by 4:45 like every day since he was 11.  He wished he were more simple, like the dog, so he could rest.