Doug

That sheep with its head in a bucket was there again this morning. It had moved about 10 feet and turned a bit, but it was still there. It was a beautiful scene: the morning mist had lifted just enough to let the sunlight stream through and diffuse in glowing yellow across the gently sloping field, with wisps of mist clinging lightly around the sheep as they stood and sat there serenely ... including one with its head in a bucket.

Occasionally I worry that my life is a bit repetitive: wake up, go to work, come home, go to sleep, repeat. But it's way more varied than standing in a field day after day with your head stuck in a bucket.