and I get up early to feed the sheep
and to watch the sun stretch her first arms
across the dark sky just as she has done every day since I can remember.
and in the morning chill my breath makes white shapes-
steam children of my moist insides.
and after the bales are loaded onto the pickup
I drive to the pasture
and rest a moment on the fence
and smoke a cigarette with the sun
as she peaks above the desert horizon
to greet me with her sweet good-morning smile.
and the distant western mountains
make a beautiful backdrop
for the morning delivery of food to my sheep.
ahh, dawn.