FIRST SONGS
Early morning in, he’d exclaim
that spring had sprung, a jillion
blades of grass jabbing skywards –
hillsides, roadsides, outside spilt
wildly with bright colors – down
by the river, all shades of lupine.
As I grew older, I felt it first –
tasted air to long beyond the wire.
Buckeyes out, redbuds start, bare
oak twigs swell – and in the thatch,
red-chested finches gather, flit and
prance to the first serenades of spring.
Last week, we branded two bunches of our own calves followed by an all-day affair at Frank Ainley’s place up the road on Thursday. We’ve got a couple of small bunches left to mark. With a slight chance of rain this coming weekend, this could be a rare wildflower year. 76 degrees yesterday, as we head into a cooling trend.