Bitter wind blows hard across the plains stretching before me I feel your love fill this vast space. Black Angus stand huddled, backs against the blows the crowded solitude calls out to the lonely barrenness of the landscape, opening the door to the home of my desire. I pray for safe return.
I shout in the echoes bouncing from cracked round river beds, crystallized frozen facets, dusting the trail under foot.
White remembrances rush, of our November home perfumed in rich aroma.
In the barn, fresh hay floats, cattle musk and steam hover over stallions and mares with nutmeg manes.
Over open kitchen fires hang kettles of cinnamon apple butter simmering hand-picked orchards harvest. Our courage, our trust and hard-work lined on grain polished shelves, jars of fresh preserves reflect golden yellow and red corn relish, crimson and orange jellies and preserves. We feast on the fruits of our labor savored in deep abiding love.
Low drive through rain and sleet the cattle moan liquid breath, as the train's wily whistle carries for miles, tracking wintry winds that whisper of the place forged and honed; where the winter rider is welcome, where all weary are welcome, to the heart and hearth of our home