morning
Rain drops on my windshield, and the sun is looking at me.
Cars pass on the street but they are far away from the flurry that is my typing fingers.
Today is the fifteenth of April, the sky is moody, melting off the snow from this morning, that bowed down the blossoming cherry bows in white ribbons illuminated by my headlights on the way to work this mornign at 5am.
The morning came quietly today, sneaking into the sky as if it were a secret, the clouds heavy on the wet land, wet snow blanketing the ground.
The headlights of the Ford truck Sarah and I drive to feed the older kids down at the other barn illuminated the dark oil and gravel road, it's yellow lines faded in the middle. Milk sloshed in the milk cans behind us, and my border collie, Fly, wiggled slightly at my feet.
The horizon line became distinct, and on the edge of the hillside I picked out the slender shape of a fox, half shedded out to it's glorious red, picking it's careful path along the fence line above the barn.
I have to remember mornings like this.
Cars pass on the street but they are far away from the flurry that is my typing fingers.
Today is the fifteenth of April, the sky is moody, melting off the snow from this morning, that bowed down the blossoming cherry bows in white ribbons illuminated by my headlights on the way to work this mornign at 5am.
The morning came quietly today, sneaking into the sky as if it were a secret, the clouds heavy on the wet land, wet snow blanketing the ground.
The headlights of the Ford truck Sarah and I drive to feed the older kids down at the other barn illuminated the dark oil and gravel road, it's yellow lines faded in the middle. Milk sloshed in the milk cans behind us, and my border collie, Fly, wiggled slightly at my feet.
The horizon line became distinct, and on the edge of the hillside I picked out the slender shape of a fox, half shedded out to it's glorious red, picking it's careful path along the fence line above the barn.
I have to remember mornings like this.
