A half-moon

hangs high in the sky

above the row of frost-covered pines

that line out from the shed,

running along the low slope toward the road.

Its soft halo

pales in the thin blue veil

of night

leaching its slow retreat

from morning’s cold coming.

My breath steams

in this fragile light,

drifts upward

and disappears in the shadows

of the over-hanging roof.

I lift the cold steel

handle of the hydrant,

watch the first surge of water

splash against the thin brown leaf

frozen to the bottom of the bucket.

Inside the shed,

I scoop up a full measure

of sweet feed

and dump it

into the heavy blue pail.

A bucket in each hand,

I stand and straighten,

turn toward the pasture.

The horse whinnies in expectation,

head carefully held over

and above the highest strand

of electric fence.

Whether or not he knows it,

this is love,

just like rain on the fields

and sun in the heavens.

H. Arnett

2/24/11