That one magic idea that will transform my small village, the magic pill that, if I just get them to swallow it, will cure all of our problems. I am too excited to reenter my sleeping state.
And other days I hear my alarm beep and fail to move. It’s cold and dark outside of the covers. My self-described brilliant idea has been shrugged off once again, a pill not just too hard to swallow but one that they won’t even send to trial. Outside my covers await another day of little progress.
But most days I wake up even before my 6am alarm, because the roosters next door are crowing and then the dogs start barking and then the tractors start moving. The sounds of a country morning are an obstacle that I have yet to overcome.