|
|
|
DOUBT
The snow has fallen all day, flakes like leaves drifting, burying every scrap and hole. Found one of the old hens frozen in the hay chute, brushed the snow off the square boulder by the stream and laid her there, offered to the sky, the black scavengers that will land when I walk back up the hill. I will show my children, when they come to dinner today, what carried me over the hill of fifty when I was so tired with all my doubt; this morning twins, two new apple faces in the corner of the ewes’ stall peering through the crowd of legs. |
|