At this particular moment
on a bright December morning
when most of the frost that formed in the night
has been melted by the sunlight
and now shows white only in the shadows,

I look down the hill past our pasture
and across the road
where the neighbor’s cows 
feed in the narrow flat of the creek bottom pasture
between the old railroad and the bare branched bluffs
that rise up south of Peter’s Creek.

All nine Angus,
scattered across Whitten’s field
and yet all perfectly in line 
with the low mid-morning sun,
harvest their own yields,
feeding in their own shadows,
noses bent toward earth
in the blending of their black
casting forward in a darkening outline of stubborn grass,
moving slowly through the darkness of their own passing.

It is tempting to search for meaning in such moments,
but even if it is only the pleasure of feeding their hunger
while feeling warm sun on their own rumps,
it is intriguing to see such a small wonder
on a crisp winter morning.

And though I would never counsel 
the abandoning of understanding,
sometimes simple appreciation
is sufficient for the moment.

H. Arnett
12/10/24