Early spring has come to Thelma’s farm. The geese are on the pond, a green velvet carpet circles the barn while songbirds greet the morning sun.
We walk down Thelma's rutted road where milk trucks used to rumble in to fetch the morning’s yield. Old Tikki leads the way - a pale fluff of a mutt like a dust mop searching for its handle.
Thelma’s cows are long since gone – sold off after Dutch was called to eternity but she'd no more forsake this land - her land than the sun would forget to rise.
Early spring has come to the Missouri hills where clean warm breezes whisper hope. Soon the ready soil will taste the furrowing blades of the plow near fields where livestock graze and flourish.
We’ve reached the bend in the road. Old Tikki's wearing down so we turn to retrace our steps. A committee of neighbor calves studies us with soulful eyes and we appear to pass inspection.
Tikki guides us on our homeward path where a ribbon of golden jonquility neatly trims the foreyard fence.
Spring has come again to Thelma’s farm as it always has and always will - where clean warm breezes whisper hope.
March 13, 2011
Included in Unity Tree - Collected poems pub. CreateSpace - Amazon.com