Tag Archives: photographs

WEEDS

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A place to hide in weeds
with rain—a closer look
at one another.

 

 

AT DAWN

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The earth is hard and dry—
but when it comes to dreams
we look to the sky.

 

 

FIRST

December 28, 2013

December 28, 2013

 

Shedding a few leaves early, the sycamores
have begun to turn, quit taking water,
teasing me with peeks of more alabaster flesh

at a distance—first moves before the sway
of winter’s naked dance along the creek—
sandy cobbles like rafts of human skulls now.

On my morning circle of first-calf mothers,
I check the spots where water rises first
behind the granite dikes beneath damp sand

and short-cropped green as if I might
hurry time, escape into the future cool and wet
and wait like a rabbit for tortoise to catch up.

 

 

Calves

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THE OLD SAW

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We are not sure anymore,
the sound and smell of it lost
to matters at hand without it,

so busy and mindful
of filling the void
best we can. The old saw

about not missing water
until the well goes dry
doesn’t cut the dust

settling nightly in my lungs,
in the corners of my eyes
and ears. I am not sure

of anything anymore
except that we would
welcome a change.

 

 

FRESH CALF

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That first day, licked clean
of placental packaging
that draws bears and coyotes—

her rough caress
brings hair and flesh alive
to shine with innocence

trying to hide in short feed:
that initial blank page
that can never be retrieved.

 

 

NOT LONG AGO

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Lonely old man,
only friend an oak
along the road.

Not long ago a colt
lightly dancing
in the gate,

the branding pen when
I tried to buy him.
What whispers

does he hear
standing hours there—
what do they share?

 

 

FOREPLAY

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Looking out beneath black clouds at dawn
from a daze, it smells like rain too early
to do much good, yet I am cheery—

old friends returned, dark remnants
of a Mexican hurricane, precursors
perhaps to storms waiting in the wings

rehearsing lines, emphasizing pauses
and diction between thunder and lightening—
old flesh revived beneath a blanket.

 

 

WPC(2) — “Adventure”

440’s Daughter

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Since she was a calf in 2012, I’ve had high hopes for the all-red cow (2092), now babysitting our first Vintage Angus calves on the irrigated pasture. A spitting image of her mother, she is demonstrating the same strong, maternal traits as her mother.

Separated from her first calf, a Wagyu X in 2010, by a series of events I can only imagine that had to include a high-speed ATV chase when she strayed onto the neighbors to be run through two barbed wire fences, 440 was finally reunited with her calf after we picked her up at another neighbor’s corrals at the behest of the brand inspector ten days later.

Drying up, she had obviously had a calf, but local details were skimpy. All we could do was bring her home and put her back into the same hillside pasture she had come from, hoping the two might get back together, though we hadn’t seen her calf. We were fairly certain that if she found it alive, the best she could offer was companionship. Three days later, I saw the two together, and unbelievably, she had come back into her milk. 440 is a legend on this ranch, epitomizing the strong hormones and maternal instincts we choose to develop instead of just beefy carcasses. After all, we’re in the business of raising cows that can raise a baby.

I’ve already checked, her week-old, red calf in the grass is a bull. But we’re hoping for at least 20 replacement heifers from last year’s Vintage bulls and this bunch of second-calf heifers.

 

MERRY-G0-ROUND

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Imagination waits
to carry fresh eyes
to the rest of your life.

 

WPC — “Adventure”