Haying: Me, and Bill and Wayne

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    Haying: Me, and Bill and Wayne

    3 Circle Ranch
    Arlington, Wyoming, circa 1963


    The sound of thunder drifts down 


    through the canyon 
    as if the mountain had gently cleared its throat
    The first soft drops of rain fall
    becoming a wet canvas onto which the valley is painted
    We stand beneath the trees that follows the creek along side the meadow
    that holds our fresh mown hay
    the 3 of us 
    sun tanned from thirty days on a tractor, no shirt
    cool and wet from the dripping leaves
    talking that cocky young man talk
    watching our cigarette smoke curl up
    and dissipate into the air 
    fragrant wiht the smell of new mown hay
    and mountain rain
    laughing like school yard clowns
    finishing up for the season
    mowing, raking, stacking
    soaking up all of life
    driving to the cook house with a beer
    from our stash in the creek
    planning the night
    on our way back in from haying
    Me and Bill and Wayne

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    Teardrops commented on Haying: Me, and Bill and Wayne

    02-12-2011

    I have lifted many a sq. bale of hay and said words i can repeat when we quit for the day . You hide beer in the creek we did it in the well house lol Marie
    Reply to Comment

    shallenemcgrath commented on Haying: Me, and Bill and Wayne

    02-03-2011

    This is an awesome write. I am right there in it with the smell of the hay and the beer all around me... One typo though: fragrant [with] the smell of new mown hay
    Reply to Comment

    train64

    02/03/2011

    Thanks S and for catching the typos..Me B and W is about 25 years old.. or more.. It isn't much but i've put a lot of time in getting it as right as i can. Those were special days..I left that life at 25..but have revisited it in person and in my mind many times..

    shallenemcgrath

    02/04/2011

    Gosh, I know that feeling. I remember sitting on the bow of the ship and just staring at the water... it was summer and the water was this iridescent turquoise color... and a tourist asked me why I sailed and I said, "when I'm 70 years old I'm sure not going to be wishing that I had watched more television." :-)

    When power leads man towards arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the area of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses.

    John F. Kennedy (1917-1963) Thirty-fifth President of the USA

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