Stay outside until the sun is low, reluctant
to let the day end, tidying halters, raking
loose hay into stalls, dragging my feet. Not
ready. Just that this sweet ordinary day,
this warm season, will soon be carried
off in the wind, gone to seed. Loosening
my grip from what I know will be lost,
one finger at a time. Willing myself to give
permission for change where none is asked
for. Coiling the hose, picking up stray twine.
Sometimes a moist snort, the herd is content
chewing the same hay as the day before.
Anna Blake at Infinity Farm
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