The Fence Line

The struggles of winter have been long forgotten, as I gaze above at sparse islands of stone scattered about a light blue sky. Even the air is at rest while the sun climbs ever higher. His ascent carries my desire to move from under this shade tree. A whisper from the wind rustles the cool sweet grass of summer, but the leaves of my tree hear not the call. The day is still and the birds’ rest in the quiet of the thicket. Except for a lone hawk riding the thermals and flirting with the sun.

I sip from my canteen and ignore the trail that sets before me. Dan’s cool gray coat stands in contrast to the day. He nibbles at the clover trying not to work too hard as we out wait the sun. I post my hand to the sky and gaze through three of my fingers; we have about a fifteen-minute rest as we wait for the sun to dart behind a cloud. Dan’s reins drag across the ground but he is careful to not leave the refuge of the shadows. The cloud and the sun finally meet up; I set my saddle to continue checking my line of fence.

A rabbit sits and stares me down as I pass, he is to hot and worn to run. He gives a nervous twitch of his nose and I ride on. The ride is slow and well paced to match the day. I curse the heat and the return of the sun to the sky. Dan follows the fence as I tighten wire and tap a post or two. The crickets sing out and are the voice of the day, as we work and ride along.

The day draws to a close it finds Dan knee high in a cool stream of water and me wetting a line for dinner. I smile to think that somewhere a whole city sets in gridlock as I gaze under the flaming horizon to catch the setting sun.