Such cool mornings

bring a dense forming of dew:

fescue so wet it’ll soak

through your jeans

in just a few steps

and your shoes

won’t dry out till noon.

So long ago

it seems like another life

I walked through the alfalfa field

on the first morning

after school was out:

my dog and me

headed toward the woods

just because we could.

It took something more

than the chill of drenched clothing

to chase off that feeling of freedom.

The dog stopped a few feet

into the woods and shook,

swooping arcs of spray

caught in shafts of sunlight

coming through oak and ash,

shining like joy

in being so far from the barn

that my father’s voice

could not reach there

to tell me there was some new chore.

I stood

in the half-shadows,

grinning at the collie,

glad in our aloneness

as if I had just risen up from the River Jordan

and stood pure and holy

in Canaan’s fair and lofty land—

touched by God’s own hand

delivered.

H. Arnett

5/17/11