On the first chill morning of October, 
The horses seem to walk a bit slower
Going from pen to pasture,

Their hard-hooved steps
Muted slightly by a thin cushion 
Of browned cottonwood leaves
Soaked by a slow inch of rain that came
In two nights and one day 
And that may bring a slight freshening of green
To what lean grass remains in the pasture. 

We slip off the halters
And the geldings pause beneath the catalpa,
Sniffing and sampling the thick clumps of fescue.

They move on toward the north end,
Knowing there might be a bit of orchard grass
Still scattered about beneath a pale white moon
Slipping toward the horizon
Underneath the bright blue sky
Of a whole world moving through its seasons.

Back at the barn with a bag of fresh feed
Riding on one shoulder,
I pause beneath the cottonwood, 

See the full, fading moon framed above the barn, 
Caught for a moment 
Between the lower branches
And the steel frame of the high gate 
And marvel at its soft beauty,
Its gentle light in these autumn nights, 
And how good rest feels
Following the long days of harvest.