I step outside the back door, the wind immediately ruffling my hair, the rain splattering on my face, and I make my way, cautiously, up the slippery steps towards the back gate.
The grass is dull now, and my footprints are making tracks across the back lawn; a direct line between the slippery steps and the back gate, a path that shows just how many times during the day I'm back and forth.
This is the second time I've been out and it's only just 7.30am. It was too dark when I came out with the dog at 6.45am for the chickens and ducks to be released.
I make my way, noting how parts of the field are becoming mud, how another mole hill has appeared overnight, how bare the trees are now looking with just a few sycamore leaves clinging on in a sheltered spot.
No trees or branches came down during the windy night. This is both a blessing and a shame. We could always use more branches for firewood.
Opening up the chicken run door, I duck inside and use my stick to release the plastic rat traps I set the night before. Snap, each one goes, making me jump. They're empty this morning. All I've managed to catch so far are mice. But it is a deterrent; there are no active holes coming from under the railway sleepers where the rats were coming in.
I freshen the water and scatter the layers pellets onto the wood chippings. Then I close the door to the run and go to slide open their pop holes. Out they come one by one, still sleepy, flapping their wings gently, stretching. And off they head towards the layers pellets. There might be a few yelps if one of the lower orders starts tucking in before those higher up.
I have been keeping them in their run for the past few days. Normally I prop open the run door and allow the chickens to range about, to scratch in the leaves, to dust bathe in the bonfire patch further down the field. But they've been sticking to their run on their own accord. Only really venturing out when they decide it's time for corn and cheekily they come into the back garden to tap on the back window. In summer this is about 5pm. Time for tea they would announce by their presence. Time for us to get locked up safely from predators. But it's been getting earlier and earlier as the days gets shorter. A few days ago one cheeky little chicken thought it was corn time at 10am.
Right, I said. Enough is enough. And I locked them in their run. And yes, ok, I gave them some corn.
They all went into their run quite happily. As though they wanted to be locked up safely. Some of them sat on the branches I'd laid out as perches. Some had a dust bathe. Some scratched about, searching the earth for any morsel of edible pleasure.
And it occurred to me last night, as I locked the back door at 4.30pm and sat myself by the fire. Our actions are mirroring each other. Mine and the chickens'. We don't want to be out in the elements when the weather is gloomy and the days are short. We want to be in our house. In our cosy place. They've got dust baths made from ash from the woodburner. I've got the woodburner glowing orange in the darkness. They've got sleep. I've got my book to read. They've got interesting morsels to eat such as corn and the occasional worm. And I've got biscuits from M&S and a hot chocolate.
