for Lady Gita who reminded me that I work at growing food for a hungry nation... and why...

 

It is the smells that make me pause, you know, the brown and red and green all mixed up together:  alfalfa and dirt and manure and blood and woodsmoke that heats the irons and then burns the hair and hide... the worst thing that will ever happen to them under our care... and sweat and tired and horse piss.

We didn't brand the four smallest calves today, and they lay in the corner of the pen napping after sucking bellies full of warm milk because they don't know to look ahead 'til the day they are strong and big and must be worked.

Poe wrote about the raven for a reason, and today I saw a pair of them, identical and sunblack, but the female had a bundle of sticks in her mouth while the male swooped behind in a cover pattern as he followed her back to their almost nest.

I led your horse home through the creek while you drove the truck around, and the sun was making angles and shadows and dances on the west sides of the treetops, and instead of letting my mind wander, I held it in place, in hoof-fall, and it rested.

You were waiting for me at the gate, the liberated dogs ecstatic and present, your smile asking forgivness for transgressions, harsh words you remember saying now that the smells no longer assault us, but wait harbored in hair and clothes and membranes.

I love it when the horses swish their noses in the water, stirring up the goldfish that nap on the bottom of the trough, and I love it that your shirt, as we dance like the evening sun around the kitchen, smells strongly of the work we did, while the transgressions burn away in Venus and Jupiter's shine.

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Comment by Mike Handley on March 14, 2012 at 8:02pm

Reading this is like sipping a hot toddy on a cold night.

Comment by Cita on March 14, 2012 at 12:58pm

@Deborah!  Ha!  I live in Arizona in the upper Sonoran desert.  We have water troughs, but they never have THAT much water in them! 

Comment by Deborah Jovan Reed on March 14, 2012 at 12:43pm

well, i'd taken it to be the actual Trough in WestVirginia, its a beautiful site.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Trough

Comment by Cita on March 14, 2012 at 11:48am

@Deborah:  Perhaps I should have written "water trough."  Interesting how regional things are with agriculture.

@T:  I am glad you caught the "on" thing... I have been "off" where writing is concerned for awhile now... since I finished the draft of DTTS that  you have.  Last night I was dog tired but felt compelled to write something, anything... and when the happens I must heed.  The on-button was indeed pushed.  And yes, we can both trust and love life when we are fully present.  I am riding again today, instead of writing, but I must trust that it is all part of a big whole.  Thanks for reading and thanks for the comment.

Comment by Deborah Jovan Reed on March 14, 2012 at 9:18am

very visual, delightful.  i was confused why fish would be napping at the bottom of the trough because i only know them as a manger - how i love research. thanks for the 6s.

Comment by Teresa on March 13, 2012 at 11:13pm

You were completely ON when you wrote this.  I love it when that happens.  Life makes more sense.  I can trust it.  Maybe even love it.  Beautiful work.  Love how lines three and four tie in together, how all of them connect to form such a sweet whole.

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