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Summer day:cast die.

My grass was cut yesterday.
My
grass
was
cut!
Not my lawn-
my grass-
for silage-
survival rations for the cattle this winter.
It is ridiculously late-
uncomfortable like an overdue haircut-
the grass has stopped growing,
it’s sugar content is down,
but it is cut!

Today it is baled and wrapped in black plastic.
I have 63 bales-
exactly the same as last year.
A simple piece of data-
diary entry, catalogued-
no story here for today-

except for the implications of that number.
My complement of fodder (with 46 bales bought in)
is now over a strategic hundred bales.
That is my estimated minimum for enduring 6 winter months-
when my care of the cattle is put to the test, and hardship and failure
results if I have been inaccurate or negligent.
Here is the drama for today – a projection of care,
made on a day of warm sun
and a drying breeze
with the swallows still hunting the air,
the leaves green,
and the bracken only turned enough
to highlight deeper shadow.

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