It is a charcoal sketch of a day.
A black swirl of starlings
-one mind, one pulse,
swing, turn, dart
-harmony, music for the eyes.
Sunflowers bend under the weight of their seeds
-a golden splash in this orphaned day.
The fields, one newly mown
another fresh and black from the plow
raise the scent of musk, perfume the
air with the fragrance of earth.
Down the pasture sheep chew
seemingly absent minded.
Midges and flies raise a dust storm
over twitching ears and flicking tails.
As the shepherd swings the gate open
he whistles “The Shepherd’s Song”.
Our dogs take it all in through the maw
of their senses as they glide through
the vale and move sheep over the swells.
I can only go on naming one thing
after another…barn, crow, deer, fence…,
as if peering through cracks in a wall.