A simple routine.

There was something haunting about the mornings when winter came around and the sunrise came so late but by now he had grown used to it. Sat at the table he stared into the hot cup of freshly brewed coffee waiting while the biscuit soaked up some of the moisture, there was just something about coffee and a new biscuit in the morning that relaxed him. It was simplistic, it was not stressful, it was not busy and it allowed him a relaxed morning before he'd have to get his chores done. It was something he welcomed after the odd dream that woke him much earlier than he would have liked but awake he was and still waited for the sun to get up so that he could return to his usual routine.
Another hour passed and finally, the first blush of the rising sun painted the horizon. By this time he had cleared the table, got dressed, fed the dogs and prepared the leftovers to give to his chickens.
His feet slipped into the boots and the flute was taken from the table. Standing outside he looked to the sky and smiled at the play of colours against the black edges that danced over the mountain range.
The flute was brought up to his lips and a simple song played. The same song he always played, each and every morning. At the higher notes, the first dog took to howling and the other two soon joined in to complete the choir. The chickens clucked in the nearby coop, the cattle bellowed within their pen and the sheep bleated. All of them knew the morning routine well and now waited for the song to finish so that they could enjoy their breakfast and care.
Another morning, another routine of chores and another wonder if any visitors would come his way this day as they had so often done back in his family home. It had never been without a good guest or two. Having none was starting to feel strange.