GRAY SABBATH
Cottony clouds claim all but the near ridge,
Jody’s slope of poppies waiting to ignite
again with sun, popcorn flowers melt upon
the grass beneath a fuzzy blanket as day
sleeps in – quiet in the canyon. Huddled
in bunches to warm ground, fat cows and
calves rise late to graze up hillsides. No
bulls bellowing, no whines of 4-wheel drives
parading to the pines. Half-light holds
its breath as we gain an extra hour of peace –
as this gray Sabbath adds an extra day
to the other end of spring. We feed
the last sticks of live oak and manzanita
to the woodstove, stacks shrinking closer to
no place for rattlers to rest and relax.