I wake with the dream after telling Earl
how many cattle of his I saw, ten to twenty
cows at a distance in and out of the brush,
chemise and manzanita peeling flies off their backs
while grazing new green under their protection—
part of a flat mountain pasture claiming space
between the rocky slopes of Live Oak
with a good spring hidden from mortal eyes—
a perfect place for heaven, for the cows and calves
I spied that we agreed to gather this morning.
They didn’t seem shy, didn’t lift their heads
to see me on the ridge trying to get a count
while searching for an overgrown way out
as they moved slowly, one step at a time,
each leg waiting its turn towards taller grass.
But which horse that has died am I too old to ride,
though Earl is young and ready without a plan
for the adventure? Panicked, what am I to do?
I roll awake relieved from dark saddling, overjoyed
to have connected with my neighbor and foster father.
Earl A. Mckee, Jr.
drycrikjournal 