digital photoart: ralph murre
A Farmer Searches for His Livestock
During a Snow Storm
by Linda Blaskey
He imagines them huddled
together by now, long
eyelashes rimed with ice.
Their hoof prints blown over
making it hard to track
them. Guernseys and
Like his grandfather,
only Guernseys and
Sure, there are others
that produce more,
the Norwegian Red, but it’s the muted tones
of his girls, their dark points,
that stir something in him.
He loves to slide his hand
along their warm flanks,
feel the contour, like he loves
to run his hand over his wife’s hip
as she lies on her side in their bed.
He thinks of this as he trudges
through drifts, whistling, calling,
listening for the lead cow’s bell.
A crow sits on a fence post, its caw
like a knell. Its dark eye
watches him pass as snow sifts down.
~ first published in The Delmarva Review