"Rainy afternoon in the barn"

                                                         "Milking 2/26"

Bailyn greets me with a moo.

She is angry about her overnight separation from Boaz

(her steer calf growing bigger by the minute)

even though this has been the pattern for weeks.

.

A little alfalfa hay and she quiets down into our routine.

I wash her teats

and work ointment onto them

and for a moment the barn smells of a pine forest.

Faint cherry smoke passes my awareness 

as milk begins to pulse into the pail.

Across the barn aisle, 

the chickens practice their innate archaelogy

Unearthing bugs, grubs, seeds

and the occasional piece of slate

(a clue into the barn's past, a tale I've heard from neighbors of a third story, a bell tower and a hurricane.)

Out in the yard, 

Sheep chew their cud.

Chew, chew, chew, chew, pause...

Wide eyed, their cheeks fill with regurgitated grass

as if they're pleasantly surprised.

After a while of zoning off into my thoughts and the rhythm of my hands,

the pail is full.

Inside the woodstove is warm,

the air is dry

and the dogs snore.