Photo & Poem: Spring Storm

The storm came so late that shedding
season was done, the horse’s coats
already thin and slick. So late there
were bright leaves on the trees sheltering

hatchlings in nests. So late the tank heaters
were unplugged and packed away, just
days before. Superstition says that’s when
storms hit even if it’s too warm to freeze.

Perhaps winter is jealous of color, and
in a death throe, borrowed some wind
from spring to hurl lukewarm snow
so heavy that branches were torn from

trees, so wet that muck dissolved into
mud, so humid that stored hay got soft
with a threat of mold. Blizzards blow
the prairie clean but this storm littered

the farm with wilted growth, fetid puddles
standing in pens, softening wooden posts.
Clean up is endless, exhaustion dulling
each task, the next glance landing on still

more to be done. Checking the fences,
socks wet in heavy boots, yet falling wildly
in love with this fringe land again, it’s willful
independence of me and my frail tidy habits.

Anna Blake at Infinity Farm

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Anna Blake

22 thoughts on “Photo & Poem: Spring Storm”

  1. I think of my property and I as partners more than owners of each other. There are times my side of the partnership seems so heavy, so daunting, so filled with aches that won’t succumb to the NSAIDS.

    But it’s not fair to complain.

    When things seem in sync my property rewards me constantly with joy, color and smells. I know it is the hardest worker in our partnership.

  2. Hard on the animals. My most distressing times are when it rains and blows cold but the winter coats have shed. It is merely a test, something to endure. God testing the faithful. I noted, yesterday and today, “Its snowing somewhere” and the southern winter has just kicked in.

    Our filly does not grow much winter coat, I think as a result of being foaled almost 4 months later than she should have; her dam was aged and maiden, they had about given up. We don’t rug here (blanket) which I think softens them, and she’s carrying plenty of lard, a very easy keeper. She can get out of the rain, but not the wind, so when the two combine, I let her into a little yard with an open sided stable.

    Simply your long winter having its last final say. I feel for you, all that unexpected work.

  3. A few moments of feeling as though I’m out there with you. Thank you, once again, for the way you reach us with your words!

  4. “exhaustion dulling
    each task, the next glance landing on still
    more to be done. Checking the fences,
    socks wet in heavy boots, yet falling wildly
    in love with this fringe land again”

    So glad I am not the only one………so grateful for your words Anna, refilling the enthusiasm tank.

    So much love xxx

  5. Late in reading this poem……so much clean up after the Spring storm. My 32 year old grandfather horse had actually shed all of his ample winter coat for this test of Mother Nature. He is fragile; precious few teeth, and requiring 4 squares of mush a day. The morning after, still standing and hungry for breakfast. I am constantly awed by how little control I have over life. I love it here.

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