Notes From The Morning Pasture

Long, deep shadows move with the sheep.  They rip, squeak, and pull at the dewy grass with their pearly front teeth.

I know it’s Suzy by her long black nose, wide eyes, and tight curly wool.  She’s by herself between the donkeys, still at the gate, and the rest of the sheep who have wandered to the back of the pasture.

The whistle, as long as a morning shadow, then quick double click of a red-winged blackbird swaying on a thin branch of the bushy pussy willow.   The throat-cleaning gulps of frogs in the marsh.

A raven, black as a hole in the sky, see-saws her wings, right over my head,  with a startling croaking. I watch as a small bird furiously chases her into the clouds where they vanish together.

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Full Moon Fiber Art