Misty Morning

Misty Morning          

I walk in the early mist.  The world seems very close, wrapped about me as I move.  The slump, slump, slump of heavy boots hamper my steps, the sound echoing.  I know the way, though sleep’s webs yet cloud my head.  I call out to the ladies in the dark and mist.  A soft low responds, not far, the cows know my voice.  I am expected.  They wait each morning.    On clear mornings in the darkness I can see some lying on the hillside others standing patiently awaiting a new day.  Days when star’s brilliance fill the dark sky, I am seen approaching, my ladies rise to meet. At my call, most begin their trek, stretching, shaking heads, at last walking slowly.  I know the leaders, the first that others follow.  I know the lagers, those requiring a gentle tap to inspire.  Now in thick dampness I move invisible, only my voice and steps forewarn my arriving.   A new day comes, my head now clear.  Yet surrounded by thick air, my task done most by familiar sounds, in a familiar place.  “Move along girls.”  The words strong and clear.  “Time to get up Bessie, lazy bones.”  I nudge the black mass yet asleep.  Startled she leaps to join her sisters.  I hear her quick steps as she vanishes in the mist.  I whistle to remind the lagers, I am near, that though darkness and fog surround the day underway.  Dampness covers my glasses.  It matters little, the world shrouded.  With my steps my mind considers.  Each day, long at labor, early beginnings, late closings, no life for the fainthearted, best it seems for the few, bold and strong, the patient and determined.  Am I brash to consider myself among those?  Perhaps.  But today I enjoy this walk in the mist.                                                             (302 Words)