You ask me now,
in this moment, waited
for my full attention
which I have refused,
too preoccupied with each rich
moment-at-hand.
My patient other voice,
ever-reasonable and calm,
ready for a pause
to pose the obvious, weigh
the load and look
at the short end of my string.
But I am busy listening
to my call carry across Greasy,
to cows bailing off the far ridge
leaving dust trails in trees,
to the diesel’s purr
beside me, promising hay.
To their slow plod up—
they trust that we
will do as we say.
drycrikjournal 
Both scenes perfectly rendered. Nice work.
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Thank you, Mike 😉
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Hope they get to taste the juce contained in fresh green grass and slobber with a green tint this coming year
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I like your poem; it has a strong beginning, it tells a story.
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