She foresees an early spring,
winter warm as we brand calves
in the open space between rains
this ground and cattle need
as much as we for our sanity.
The finches vie for corners
in the post and beams
that hold the roof and summer sun
at bay. Fat ground squirrels play
grab-ass, warming-up
for the real thing, planting seed
for fresh armies of vermin
to attack the garden.
Already the love songs
of a hundred coyotes
fill our dark canyon
from dusk to dawn—invite
the dogs to sing along.
One never knows about the weather—
it can do anything anytime it wants
to make geniuses or fools of us all.
drycrikjournal 