Spring In South East Montana
I step outside
to first hear the low calling of a mama,
seeking out her gamboling calf
among all the others
he knows her voice;
they will find each other, satisfied for now.
Continuing onward toward a daily rite
I take my time walking slowly to the horses
the wind caressing tall stems of dried prairie blue,
the sun sending morning heat in bursts
through rolling wooly down clouds
navigating the spanning
I turn and look;
its the cock pheasant
looking for love in creek bottoms deep
as I wait, he waits; will she appear?
Ah, there she is, strutting her run to her man.
Then the symphony of the Redwings begins
I forgot to fill the feeder with seed
they sing drawn out trills of protest
reminding me, and each other
of their recent hard times
Impatient horses nicker loudly
snapping me out of my concert concentration
As I dole out their feed in flat round pans,
they watch intently each shiny grain
does not take favorites this morning.
With chores finished, I take time to sit
on clinker rock overlooking the hayfields
The red shouldered hawk lazily flies circles
calling to his mate, once, twice, three times
Is it "good morning, my love!" or "I miss you!", or
Next to me, I suddenly feel
a cloak of warmth pressing against my side
My beloved has joined me in the sun
We sit together, quietly absorbing
our surrounding world of natural awe;
Post a Comment
Im feral, I dont respond at all like most domesticated bloggers- However thank you for even wanting to leave a comment, as long as it doesnt involve death threats or name calling, I might even respond.