the last day of summer
This area of grazing is my favorite. The sheep are under the shade of trees that line the road and walk along on a slight hill. This incline and shade makes it the perfect place for human loitering. I went into the house and grabbed a jar of iced tea, a quilt, and a magazine and went back outside to join my flock. I loafed there till nearly dark—reading with the menagerie. Occasionally Chuck Klosterman would jump onto the quilt with me, or Joseph would run over. He's bold enough to come into my personal space but won't let my hand touch him. (He'll warm up.) Sal and Maude don't share his nerves. They had no problem nosing me out of the way if they felt a good patch of grass was under my blanket. Some people might be nervous flopping in the grass next to a 160-pound male sheep. I don't share their nerves either.
Last night felt like the last day of summer. It wasn't marked by any celestial calendar or science, but it felt like the end. The fireflies have long since parted. The evenings have lost their length and swelter. Out on the blanket I didn't need a hoodie, but I wouldn't have turned one down either. I checked the weather online and they are calling for nights back in the forties by tomorrow night. Yes! I can't wait to get up in the Autumn dark of early morning and take a mug of strong coffee outside in my dad's red plaid jacket and see my breath turn to smoke. Watch it swirl up into the air along side the honks of geese and bleats of a goat. I think just writing that sped up my endorphins a bit.
P.S. A commenter asked if I bought Joseph due to the color variety? Nah. Joseph's a barter. He'll be exchanged for a breeding Angora doe from the next litter Bean drops. Which I hope is in about 22-25 days from now.