I drove mother home the back way that day.
Connected roads that wind their way
past pastures and country, large
open fields that students call watershed.
Winter began to dwindle that day,
and start losing it’s heavy, cold weight,
made way for the springtime twilight.
As I made the last left turn onto Bell road
we continued our discussion.
I subconsciously slow down the car.
A sheep farm sits there on Bell road
where the smell of onion
permeates the hot summer air every year,
when the sheep are left outside to graze
on the piles of the rotten vegetable.
We both look to the yard
where the sheep graze, even now,
and their tan wool is camouflage
as my eyes jump into the next block
of green green spring grass.
Three white bodies
stand equally apart from each other,
white like bright teeth,
in an otherwise toothless mouth,
each on one leg apiece.
though there are more likely to have been cranes,
with long thin necks
holding up impossibly heavy beaks,
stretched higher to watch us
slowly passing to watch them.
Nearly stopped on the curvy road
in front of the sheep farm,
I took the photo in my mind,
knowing the creatures would be gone
upon my next return, surely
they’ll have continued their flight,
and perhaps grace another farmers yardwith their awful beauty.