March 29th, 2011

Fence Line

The field has an early scent of horses
the steam rising from their velvet mouths
Tearing the closer to a place further away
from where you are, simply to be with you
Here, where once a determined plow parted
and harrow softened, now lies softly fallow
as they don't remember, or seem to care
what purpose other than sweet grass to
find along this fence and twisted board
I knew you before I was born, with hands
that worked the field, but no longer do

* * *

Last night, I fit my newer bike in the trainer and spun for an hour. Of course, I had to keep hissing at Wyler when he got near the spinning back wheel and even had to stop a few times because he couldn't resist trying to figure out (or rather supervise) what I was doing. Cats generally have a dominant mischief gene, and Wyler the bad cat, is certainly no exception.