Terry worked in the lemon colored sunshine, using the shovel to clear last year’s mud and this February’s cow patties.
The pungent odor of dried stems, the faint whiff of dust…all adds to the slide of the pitchfork under the debris, the fling of trash to the other side; making a little pile to dispose of later.
The fresh gusts of spring-time wind give me a tiny burst of celebration, since the breeze helps move the dried out weeds off my pitchfork helping me move faster.
In the evening I walk Romeo back to his barn–he and I are great friends. Min-Min Lou and Boomer going with us.
The circle of life– Inevitable. Eternal.
Your friend on a western Colorado farm,