Wasso beat

Rhythm courses blood red
In waves of morning clouds
Marked by cattle bells.
The day breathes hot and wide,
Shadows race across the hill
Until they tire into long blue threads.
Then the cows return, in line,
Brown and white and black,
Driven down the long cracked wash,
Dusted rusty red.

1 comment:

rose of Walk in the Woods - she/her said...

Your words paint the picture for me. Lovely.