A rooster crows, and I am welcomed into the premature morning. It is dark. Weary from my slumber, I groggily, but effortlessly, get dressed. I slip into my overcoat, which hangs on the western wall, three steps from my bed. I turn, and step into my boots that stand side by side beneath my bed. Finally, my cap, balancing to my right on the bedpost. It is dark.

A rooster crows, and I am welcomed into the premature morning. It is dark, yet a faint orange glow lurks towards the east, a warning to the waning moon above. I stand, my wool still heavy from the weight of sleep. I’m almost there. Today I will make it. The wood lies fifty yards in front of me, calling. I look around. I am in a far corner of the meadow. The other sheep, nothing but silhouettes in the distance. I observe them as they too begin to wake, and immediately start to graze where they stand. I turn my attention back in front of me, where the wood awaits. I take a step forward.

I step into the cool, stale air of dawn. To the east, a strip of lights fades from red to orange until it disappears into the darkness of the remaining light. Clouds cover the moon, yet a blurred luminosity lingers. My eyes adjust to the fading, yet enduring darkness and obscured shapes transform into the faint silhouettes of sheep. Dew glistens on their coats of wool. It's almost time for a shearing. I pick up my crook from where it leans against the modest cabin and observe my herd. Dispersed across the meadow by curiosity, yet an invisible bond almost prevents one from being secluded from the pack. Except, I notice, one young ram, who stands alone on the edge of the pasture. Wandering towards the wood. They say curiosity killed the cat, but a shepherd knows better. I begin my task. Dew seeps into the sole of my boot, just as the sun makes its first appearance. Before long, in front of me stands the flock, including the wandering ram. Their fleecy bodies packed together, they begin grazing once again.

I seem to blink, and once again I am crowded into the tightly packed herd. I forget the darkness of the wood that had begun to pull me in. Now I only graze.

The flock is safe. My job is done. For now at least. For a shepherd, there is no end. Everyday is the same. The task only repeats itself. An endless labyrinth of monotony. It’s comforting, yes. No fear of change. What is there to do, but herd? I am trapped, I know that. Tomorrow, inevitably I will wake, and guide my wandering sheep home. Safe. But for now I rest.

What lies beyond the mead? I will never know. Everyday I wander, grazing. Every day, without fail, my four legs guide me to the woods. A promise of uncertainty. Yet I never make it. It is a cycle. An endless labyrinth of monotony. But I am safe this way. No fear of change, of predators. What is there to do, but graze? I am trapped, but I’m home. Safe. Tomorrow, inevitably I will wake, having wandered to the edge of the pasture. But for now I graze.

A rooster crows, and I am welcomed into the premature morning.