Even hay makes hay while the sun shines—
Well, the grass makes grass that you’ll make hay.
After an early November storm,
And the first pair of rigid cold nights,
Everyone’s busy on the mesa.
Nuthatches hammer, chatter, hammer.
Down in the canyons, cattle bellow.
Pickups and cyclists head back up slope.
A mule deer doe leads her latest fawn,
Striding past, clearly all business.
Even the lean, grey lizard warming
Itself on this basalt it matches
So well you think, ashes to ashes,
Is working the sun to advantage.
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