Sisyphus

That afternoon the wind was rushing the trees and the clouds poured across space and he felt very close to the world, like a shaken hand. When he reached the corner by the hedgerow there was a whirling in the grasses and a hare ran out and jinked left and right and into the standing corn; he stopped and straightened up and almost laughed, it seemed that it was his hare, his afternoon entirely. The stone took him up the hill and at the top he shoved it off and jogged back down the rutted track, eager to begin the work again, the way a deckhand coils down a rope for the fiftieth time and looks expectantly up and out to the horizon.

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