I love these August mornings,
such peaceful, gentle formings:
the way the sun slants through the tall trees
lining the edge of the pasture,
the way the dew shines my boots
as I walk through the fescue toward the barn
to feed the horses.

I love the stirring of slight breezes in their coursings,
rippling the leaves of the cottonwood,
the shimmerings of light glistening off their angles
and the thousands of tiny bangles from the beads
of last night’s cooling caught in the low blades of grass
reflecting on my passing along the driveway
in the early parts of this day’s duties.

I love the feel of cool air
against the boundaries of my face,
its tracings along the edges of my arms,
the smell of the night’s lingering shadows
seeping from the edges of the woods,
the muffled sounds of my steps
across the damp sand of the round pen.

Whatever testings may come
in the heat of the noonday’s sun,
whatever trials might pass
in the crescending rise of work and heat,
I will give thanks for the food I eat,
forgive whatever wrongs might pass this way,
and be grateful for this day that the Lord has made.


H. Arnett
8/15/23