Wild, rough and rocky,
Chemise and Manzanita pulling at my jacket’s sleeve,
we followed a few cows and calves off the hill
towards the corrals below before a branding
people scurrying to set the gates
as we drew closer, you among them
dashing with athletic grace
that captured my attention—
young bull, thirty-seven years ago,
six years friends, before asking
in a poem
would you be my Valentine?
Dim light above the kitchen table,
wet wedding rings beneath ceramic coffee cups,
shod horses fidget in the aluminum gooseneck
outside before daylight.
“Are Bud and Monte comin’?”
“Nope, just you and me, Babe,” he grins
showing teeth beneath his moustache.
“Any stars?” she asks. “It’s s’posed to rain,
you know, sometime today.”
“A few holes in the clouds is all,”
as he looks up at the ceiling.
“With a little luck
we ought to make it up the hill
before it gets slick,
get the cattle down
and be home by the fire
before it gets too wet.”
After a pause and long swallow, she asks,
“You know what day it is?”
“Thursday, I think”
“Is that all?” she lets trail on her way to the sink.
“Oh, I’ll be goddamned:
Happy Valentine’s Day!”
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2019, Ranch Journal
Tagged photography, poetry, rain, Valentine's Day, weather
Dim light above the kitchen table,
wet wedding rings beneath ceramic coffee cups,
shod horses fidget in the aluminum gooseneck
outside before daylight.
“Are Bud and Monte comin’?”
“Nope, just you and me, Babe,” he grins
showing teeth beneath his moustache.
“Any stars?” she asks. “It’s s’posed to rain,
you know, sometime today.”
“A few holes in the clouds is all,”
as he looks up at the ceiling.
“With a little luck
we ought to make it up the hill
before it gets slick,
get the cattle down
and be home by the fire
before it gets too wet.”
After a pause and long swallow, she asks,
“You know what day it is?”
“Thursday, I think”
“Is that all?” she lets trail on her way to the sink.
“Oh, I’ll be goddamned.
Happy Valentine’s Day!”
No roses, no chocolates, we left Dry Creek early to make the 45 minute trek to Mankin Flat to brand Craig Ainley’s calves. We were in and out of the clouds all day long and made it off the hill just before dark. Robbin manned the ‘point and shoot’ on the way up and between vaccinations. Fine calves with the fine company of neighbors, but needless to say, no one went to town for a romantic dinner.
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
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