my favorite time

It's 7:30 am the sun is behind the hills and the moon has yet to set
It's 20 degrees out side and 47 degrees inside
I step outside into the the sharp air my horse "hurumbles" to me from his stall
I carry the steaming buckets of water to the pigs replacing their hard overnight water
The ground is solid underfoot but covered in a cotton frost
I hear the pheasant cracking through the air with his call and the whispering answer of the goat's bells far up the hill
The sky is blue above the west hill where the moon is settling, and behind me the pink glow of the unrisen sun is creeping in
I go further up the hill to the goats and lama who greet me with with warm noses and frosty wool
I bash through the ice to their water with my steal and then pour out their warm grain and hay
I collect the newly laid morning eggs so they don't expand and crack in this January air
The sun breaks the edge of the east canyon wall and bursts out against the fir trees leaving the moons memory behind them in their bright blue casts.