SNOW DOWN LOW

Hundred-degree August, new filaree
now grows flat with weeks of cold, red
and purple patches with morning frost—
old cows and second mothers thin,
resigned to raising babies—not yet
spring. Sixty days last winter dry,

they wonder why they bred back.
It wasn’t love the bulls fought over,
re-stretching fences into kindling
and barb wire traps, no long term
planning or romance—nothing lasting
but for the calf, grazing what others can’t.

It is not perfect in the natural world
evolving with humans looking for a living,
that accomplishment that defines our progress
and growth—a wealth that nurtures itself
while we sleep and dream of other things
much less basic to our survival.

After awhile, these old hills echo
with the sayings that have endured,
poetry proven right that draws the line
between what is and what we wish
to see. Foothill forecast: cold and
beautiful with snow down low tonight.