A full moon

on a cloudless dawning

glows above the western hills.

Its gentle light

glazes the ground mist

hovering above the sod

of the neighbor’s pasture.

Even in this brightness

a few stars shine

overhead.

The whiteness of the horse shed

shows beneath the spreading pines

silhouetted against the sky

and dwarfed by the eighty-foot cottonwood

between the pen and the driveway.

From the east,

the least glow of pink

rims the ridge,

backdrops the fence line timber

and the expectant gelding,

whinnying as I walk through the wet grass.

I kneel, slide the bucket

beneath the bottom wire.

In such a moment,

I cannot imagine any need I have

that is not filled.

H. Arnett

9/12/11