Leaving the Farm at Daybreak

The dogs trailing down the lane, I entered mist drifting above hay fields, burning toward a winter blue sky shredded with clouds. In the hills’ rolling breastworks, the well-tended cattle, embedded like stones, watched my progress. At the gate, I stepped from the car, rested my hand on the frigid gate to lift the latch. Once through, my fingers ached on the wheel with the shock of cold. I looked again at the perfect oil of a landscape -- the open folds of the pastures on either side seemed to promise comfort. Did the light merely reflect the coming day? . I entered the main road, and drove away.