Because it was dark and rainy and I was whiney, M generously did the barn chores this morning.

Somewhere along the line, after the feeble sun rose over the hill, he saw this scene, and it called to mind this poem.

Anecdote of the Jar

I placed a jar in Tennessee,
And round it was, upon a hill.
It made the slovenly wilderness
Surround that hill.

The wilderness rose up to it,
And sprawled around, no longer wild.
The jar was round upon the ground
And tall and of a port in air.

It took dominion every where.
The jar was gray and bare.
It did not give of bird or bush,
Like nothing else in Tennessee.

–Wallace Stevens