Coward

The man works his farm. He is caked in mud and dirt and apart from the faint noise of his cattle all is silent. He shovels just as he has done every day since he can remember. As he works he is deep in thought, caught in a cyclical daydream, snapped out of it only by approaching footsteps. The man works his farm. He is caked in mud and dirt and apart from the faint noise of his cattle all is silent. He shovels just as he has done every day since he can remember. As he works he is deep in thought, caught in a cyclical daydream, snapped out of it only by approaching footsteps. The man works his farm. He is caked in mud and dirt and apart from the faint noise of his cattle all is silent. He shovels just as he has done every day since he can remember. As he works he is deep in thought, caught in a cyclical daydream, snapped out of it only by approaching footsteps. The man works his farm. He is caked in mud and dirt and apart from the faint noise of his cattle all is silent. He shovels just as he has done every day since he can remember. As he works he is deep in thought, caught in a cyclical daydream, snapped out of it only by approaching footsteps.