No longer needing to commute,
we move out of the city
seeking inside-snow-globe quiet,
trade tail lights for tails,
cow, deer, fox, dog.
View from my kitchen window
two swayed back mares
eating hay, sleeping,
their world defined by white fence
and barbed wire.
Through spring breeze, snowfall
minus 20-degree weather
eating hay, sleeping
echoes of circular
instructions on shampoo
lather, rinse, repeat.
“Being put out to pasture”
acquires new meaning.
At least I have my volunteer work