A girl comes out
of the barn, holding
like a bucket of milk
or like a lantern.
Her shadow’s there.
They pump a bucket of water
and loosen their blouses,
they lead the mare out
from the field
their thin legs
blending with the wheat.
Crack a green kernel
in your teeth. Mist
in the fields,
along the clay road
the mare’s footsteps
fill up with milk.
~Franz Wright “Morning”
Each morning as I rise to let the horses out to graze for the day,
I’m once again that girl who woke early
to climb on horseback to greet the summer dawn,
with mist in my hair and dew on my boots,
picking ripe blackberries and blueberries as we rode past.
The angled light always drew sharper shadow lines as the sun rose
until I knew it was time to turn around, each hoof step taking us home
to clean barn, do chores, hang the laundry, weed the garden until sunset.
Sunlight creates and erases all that is shadow.