Beyond the fence separating the lawn from the pasture a copse of tall pine speak softly, once calling me home from the abstract north.
The old yellow cat, ago a nocturnal stalker of field rodents, now this night lounging at the foot of my bed - content to look out the window.
Rain crow announces dawn and Queen Anne's Lace floats on a breeze above the damp June grass.
The lawn is pocked with the work of night's armadillo and a single useless gold green wing of a Luna moth, victim of bat, lies
On the pasture black cows graze with white egrets following beneath wet grey clouds moving slowly eastward.
White sand from a primal seashore hauled from the source near the Live Oak to the yard and slowly poured into a bed.
Dry cow dung and black rich soil alive with earthworms finish the job.
Cold winter rain brings dreams of tomatoes, faced and boxed - summer gifts for friends with smiling eyes.
Eastern Blue birds, shy and independent, take no seed from the winter feeder. In spring, after careful inspection, pairs select nesting
boxes made from pailings and guarded from serpents by barbwire wound about the base. Bright orange and warm blue fluttering angles, blessed gifts to earth.
The taste of June blackberries presented by thorny vines along the pond bank pulls up childhood memories of gatherings in tin syrup pails brought home in with hopes of a cobbler
or hawking berries to neighbor ladies in long cotton dresses who answered the knock and placed nickels and dimes on stained palms.
Dimes for tickets to Saturday's picture show, Roy or Buck or Red, made no difference.
On the pond bank the wing of the Embden goose lies muddy and mangled. That strong wing once beat and drove the fox, brilliant golden red in the morning light, from the yard saving the cowering hens.
The pond where the Grey heron feeds, domain of the goose 'til the alligator entered unnoticed and moved slowly, slowly like a floating log..