Steelburners, Beasts and Midwinter Poem

image of jill staveley and matt watson of the steelburners at the pig's ear tavernLast weekend I checked out the Steelburners playing at the Pig’s Ear.

image of jill staveley of the steelburners rocking out at the pig's ear tavernIt was great to get out and dance to Jill Staveley, Matt Watson (and Adam DeMarsh whose drumstick you can see on the right side of the frame) and their churning rock n’ roll.

image of chickens in a coop looking over each other at the camera with a chicken butt in the left of the frameBut this week I am house sitting and taking care of the beasts and homestead.

image of sheep face looking into the cameraThe lady sheep are getting big round bellies as they get closer to having their lambs.

image of clover the ram looking aggressively into the cameraThe ram is doing his best job being protective and has been giving me daily warnings not to get too close.

macro closeup of clover the ram's eyeI was bold enough to sneak my camera in over the fence to get a closeup of his lovely, intense glare.

Don’t worry, Clover, I have all respect for you and your ladies.


I was also inspired to write a poem while I was standing out in the frost last night.

For those of you who don’t follow me on Facebook, here it is:

two nights ago I heard the wild dogs
a fractious conference
of who did what to whom

or perhaps they’d found a warren
and there was a bloody dinner

I stood in my shirtsleeves
in the moonlight
and tried to decipher their cries and chatter

tonight, though,
the frost is keen
and sparkling
on a layer of ice

it is cold
deep cold

the now full moon is silent
so silent

I’ve been reading about the plague
the great plague

I am silenced
made blood cold
by that strange and brutal history

so many people
so suddenly dead
no one knew why
the end of the world
parents left children to die alone
from the fear
cold, cold fear

I go inside
and put another log
on the fire
and settle down
to read more
of the cruelty of
that mysterious death

the cat follows me in
and curls up by the dog
by the fire

the sheep, though
haven’t burrowed into their shelter
they stand outside
bathing in blue light

never mind the cold
this is our landscape
we were built for this

you may think we are fragile

enjoy your fire

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