Lawn chairs got tossed, doors banged and
windows rattled. She came back late,
maybe even drunk. When I ventured out
just before sun up, the ground was damp,
small twigs and branches littered the picnic
table. A surprising barrage of bird chatter;
it’s been so quiet without them the last months
but they were back, a hundred to a tree.
Dirty snow drifts oozed muck through messy
pens. Crack! A bolt of wind slapped the side
of the barn, hay scattered from feeders, and
eyes wild, the horses galloped manure into
mud. Spooked and not ready to drop back
to eating, they spun ‘round toward an unseen
predator behind them, seconds of stillness,
in the next instant bolting frantic again,
even the oldest gelding lifted to a ragged trot.
Spring returned to our farm, loud and rude, in
a rickety pickup wash-boarding down our dirt
road, insistent on having her brazen way with us.
Anna Blake at Infinity Farm
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