The Perfect Sliver

The Perfect Sliver

Nose to the ground
Bob eats his way down the hill
A stocky white-faced Hereford
With a one track mind
The girls lounge beneath the apple tree
On a patch of dirt warmed by the sun
The chipmunk takes advantage
Of this distraction
He scurries in and out of the hutch
Smuggling cheekfuls of grain
For the winter ahead
It’s that perfect sliver between summer and autumn
When the smell of freshly mowed grass
Meets a chill in the morning air
And mustard and rust colored leaves scatter the ground
Wobbly-legged Elloise, the youngest
Bounces down the hill after Bob
She’s a shiny chestnut brown
With a white and black tipped tail
The oldest cow, Selina, switches hers back and forth
Shooing the last black flies of summer

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