The white fence bordered
the lush pasture
in a multi-squared pattern
following flat land to tree line.
We teetered on the top fence rail
nearest the barn,
watched the horses
graze on this spring day.
The field - green grass over
thick, wet mud -
shimmered with morning dew
and first light.
The sweet smell of wildflowers
and piney spruce
were dulled by manure and
moisture-heavy air.
A week of rain had created
a watery muck that crusted our boots
and clung to us wherever we went.
Dark clouds were forming again,
promising another deluge.
I jumped - my boots sinking -
lifted you down into my arms.
You finger-whistled the horses in
for cover
while I stepped forward, called their
names, and slipped -
sliding feet first into the green-brown
mud bog.
“Damn and shit,” I cursed -
heard your laughter from behind.
Turned and saw
you extending a hand,
the other covering your face
to mask amusement.
Grasping your forearm, I pulled
you down with me.
The torrents of rain came,
like a holy baptism rushing over us -
mixing with laughter, mud
and two very curious horses
on the loveliest of spring days.

© Laura DeHart Young