Morning Chores
Morning Chores
After mixing Old Man Donkey’s feed,
Blending hot water and pellets, oatmeal fit for fifty-something years,
I step outside into a new January morning.
Bracing cold steals my breath, but
Mesa’s nicker from somewhere
Hidden in the darkness
Warms my heart.
The sky is still dark, and stars twinkle overhead.
I love morning chores in the winter.
Despite the wind blustering at my jacket,
My smile widens as my little donk trots my way,
Always ready for food, his belly
Broad with stored fodder for any coming storm, his
Small hooves plunk path markers into drifted snowy speedbumps.
As horse and donkeys munch breakfasts, the barn
Welcomes me inside, safe from the sting of the wind.
Darkness is chased away with a flick of a switch.
Thor, the mighty rat killer, stretches his bulky gray cat form
From the warmth of his cozy flannel bed, blesses me by moving my way.
Feral once upon a time, now he
Pushes his thick velveteen forehead into my palm, shows his belly for rubbings.
We are the only creatures in existence in this moment.
Biting cold reminds me it is time to flee, that
I lack the wintery insulation of nature’s animal kingdom.
With a final pat, I bid Thor good-bye, toss extra hay outside,
fuel for equine internal furnaces throughout this winter day.
My path is blocked by sweet Nick’s need for scratches, and
He nestles his too big head into my chest, leaning his weight forward,
Trusting me. Icy puffs float away as I breathe in and out,
somehow relaxed despite single digit temps.
rubbing up and down until his deep brown eyes close
in donkey contentment.
His long ears droop, no will to stay upward as he relaxes thoroughly
into my touch.
Mesa watches intently from a few feet away, her eyes softening
as my hands work beneath Nick’s blanket, finding his neck with my gloved fingers.
She feels the love, even though she is wary of accepting it herself.
I could stay here all day, if not for the cold.
I love these winter mornings, though my smile
Defies using the word chores.
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