These horses are the same color as two mules my daddy owned in the late 1940′s,
I Remember Daddy
I liked to watch my daddy bale the hay
and haul it to the barn at end of day
where little sister and I used to play.
We climbed up in the loft so we could see
our daddy drive the mules, Shorty and Kate,
up from the hayfield, then on through the gate.
Our mama called from kitchen, “Don’t be late,”
and then she sat with baby on her knee.
Those days were short it seems when I recall
the heat, the smell of new-mown hay in stall.
What fun when daddy made the final haul
and walked back to the house with Sis and me.
At supper time , we bowed our heads for grace;
the baby’s cooing lit up Daddy’s face.
“Me–a raucous bird? Aggressive? Mean-spirited? Loud? You could be right about that. But just look at my fine, colorful feathers and see that all things God made are beautiful!” I am Blu J. Byrd, stopping by for breakfast.
Yep, that winter storm Titan is here! Sleet is falling and looks like snow on the ground. Thunder is rumbling. I won’t grumble. Plenty of feed in this tray. And there’ll be more feed tomorrow. Some people you can count on. The Mr. who lives in that house is one of ‘em, and the Mrs. who lives there carries a camera by every window to practice taking photos. You’d think she has enough by now. :)
Tonight, I’m sharing from my journal these words written a long time ago as I recalled my childhood home on Banner Mountain.
I sat on the bed in my wall-papered room with its bare floors and one narrow window. I looked out at the warm night and there along the garden fence, I saw the colorful hollyhocks that grew tall and stood still as a shadow in the moonlight.