The wind nearly took my hat.
The doors are off the Jeep.
I hear birds singing.
I don't hear them as well when the doors are on.
Summer. Uncomfortable humid wind from the south.
A large doe there by the edge of the woods
Tan fur contrasts beautifully with the lime-green thicket behind her.
She eases into the underbrush, disappearing before my eyes.
Summer weeds grow high in the pasture.
Baked gold in the sun's constant stare.
My dogs bark, want me to follow them.
But I want to sit here under the slumbering Oak.
They run into the trees.
I hear fallen limbs cracking beneath the hooves of the doe.
The dogs give up quickly.
Honeysuckle wind comes from the forest.
The shade from the ancient oak is dense.
Almost dark under here.
Silky black dirt ground to powder,
Shuffled upon by a herd of docile cows.
I step out of the Jeep onto the cool ground.
Blackened smooth roots rise just above the surface.
I sit down among strong scents of animal and earth.
A memory bursts to mind of an innocent child playing.
wkm
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