I turn away, blinded by November’s
first light, Redbud hearts enflamed
with last season’s feed on green
burning yellows between dark shadows
with the news, with disbelief.
I retreat to calm counsel with cattle:
scattered pairs, calves fresh with life
finding legs to fly—buck and run
figure-eights without direction always
circling back, showing off for mom.
We will work the heifers anyway—
give them everything we can
to make them attractive to Wagyu,
their first bulls. And we will wait,
as we always do, for rainy days.
drycrikjournal 
Needed your beautiful photo and soothing words this morning, John.
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I went to sleep last night still not knowing for sure. At 3am this morning, I let myself linger a little longer in the unknown, soaking in the ancient starlight, the constant of crickets in the grass. These things solid beyond human dramas. Like poetry, they soothe me. Later I logged on, and now I know the latest news.
Art is our strength. Nature is who we are. The shadows and light will continue to play. Thanks for your words on this morning.
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A graceful coda for a graceless night . . . Thank you, John.
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I went to the garden this morning.
While sitting among the squash and Roma green beans,
my mind drifted off to times I had visited the zoo
and how the last 18 months reminded me of the monkeys
throwing their poop back and forth at each other.
Another election over-may the next 4 years be a gentle cleansing bidet.
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