Angus Halfhorn is looking pkeased with himself.
He trots up the farm road,
stops in the birches
and watches me brightly
while scraping at the dust with his left leg.
He is happy because he has broken out,
skittling my fenceposts to drunken angles
to join the pair of cows, Flora and Morag
that I have held separate as they calved late.
He doesn’t seem deterred that Morag
is 15 years old with chronic arthritis
and Flora is his mother.
Back from holiday,
the sky is grey
the heather is brown
but there is a rainbow across the valley.
So maybe I can share Angie’s well-being-
if I just break a few fences.