Afield

I feel the daylight stretching.  I stay in the studio as long as I dare, straining my eyes for one more solder, one last hammer strike.  I run late, pushing my blurring feet towards a sunset that is slinking Northward.  In the field, we don’t know if we’ll find a bird or a shed antler behind the next bitterbrush.  The mule deer are dropping their burdens as the world tilts towards waking and spring.  I expect to hear meadowlark song any moment, their flicking tails conducting the curve and sway of bunchgrass in the wind.