The Van Gogh colors of fall
Replaced by the grey tweed of winter.
early morning blanketed by stark, blue white of deep powder.
shiver on my horse, hands too cold too hold the reins.
mile off, three hundred cattle lie like black granite on the
I whistle them out, through trackless snow.
Leaping like bulls from a bucking chute, they lunge toward
I send Hemp left, Taff right.
Each turn causes
an explosion of snow like tiny grenades.
The herd, now
stretched over a quarter mile seems too much for two dogs.
to back, left to right they work.
Too much passion can burst
No sound but the muffled beat of many hooves.
herd approaches, steam exploding from nostrils, forced on by the
Cows now settled in new feed.
Dogs biting at ice
balls between toes.
Tongues hanging, defying the cold.
more than a mile their work is written ? in snow.
the turn, the straight track speak of their passion, their love
of the fetch.
by George C. Lake P.A 2008
about Marley Taff and