Behind the barn and horses
grazing evening time, beyond
our chorus line of sycamores
locking hands gleefully,
young mothers pepper green,
return home to fresh feed
with branded calves—slope bare
for years without rain.
Breathing deeply, we inhale
all before our eyes—
herd and family without
the scattering sort of bulls,
they glean the sweetest first
before working
up the mountain gradually.
We want to freeze the feeling
in a photograph forever,
knowing we cannot.
drycrikjournal 
What a lovely picture and sentiment.
I often think of special times I would have liked to have frozen with my children. Can’t happen, time defeats us. The memories are still there for comfort.
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