Listening to every heart
Summer Sunset - Chapter 3
Oh wicked sun, itís not even 6:00 a.m.,
you are streaming through those blasted
blinds, leveling your yet to be
100 degree rays directly into my eyes
...and one can feel
the steam already permeating through
the house...close those doors and leave
the air-conditioning on.
The whup whup whup of the
ceiling fan whispers a small
breeze across my bare knees,
and the small of my mind realizes that
jeans will be worn to protect me
from the swarms of bugs and catchthistles
when we go to the pasture, to check on the
cows and calves and make sure there
is water in the trough.
Itís not even 8 a.m. and the grasshoppers
are already more than 12 feet high in the
Cows munching the warmed grass
now belly high.
Smaller calves laying flat out -
black/pink/white ears sticking straight up,
flickering with flies.
Donít breath in too hard, mugginess clogs the
lungs, and gnats are around your head.
Step carefully for cowpies permeate the ground
Leather gloves cover city hands and the barbed
wire bites in anyway, so pull tightly and gingerly
too, no matter what husband says. Do your best.
Evening comes lightly, falling slightly
into the realm of the nether world. Dusking
shimmers with fireflies dancing and a cool front
moved in. Wind switches the cottonwood leaves
which glisten on top, and shimmy on the bottom.
And whish whish whish the cooler breeze on in.
Suddenly grey darkness runs over you and teardrops
of cool mist seem to gather up in the middle
of the overhead and pour, momentarily, and cool the mind.
Then that pink starts. Clouds are overhead, a blanket,
thin, effervescent sort of, and no sun to be seen, but
just a deepening of a pink haze from the passing of
the storm, and no more sunlight, just salmon colored
haze, then deep pearlescence, then a gray tinge
And night comes. Mourning doves call.
Words will always express our feelings true.