Two strips of brown earth
in raised beds capture the sun
like soup for baby green heads
ants in the grass,
where I dig a hole
for the new tomato plant.
She opened a few yellow bright
eyes to look around this morning.
Stretching those crooked arms
and gazing sideways.
I walked barefoot along the cement path.
The birds line up in all the trees
to enliven the leaves, notes
falling down with the green.
So many colors of green.
Ebony and Kona wait for their walk,
I hear them shuffling and tapping
their feet. A mouse makes a small
clicking noise in the nightie drawer.
The day is like a book. I set it down,
I pick it up. Turning one page, the
yellow sun has drained into gray-white
The dogs are quiet. The mouse is gone.
for the farm in all her glory