Comes Calm

Watched red-orange sky recede,
Glancing long into my
Rear view mirror,
Coming home from Seneca,
East through the 
Finger Lakes Forest.

Going over earlier,
How beautiful it was, and
Green: long light
Bathing wooded stands
Punctuating plush watered
Hills, tip of Appalachia.

I knew, despite the truly
Cold May, June days,
And infuriating rain that has
Interfered in
Planting vegetables,
That eventually
Summer would have to come,
Heralding the road's sparse
Path to summer pasture,
Reminding me there is the
Local rhythm, to take me
To my thankful place:
Bobby's snow-bound-weary cattle
Finally gone, to fields across
The Forest's ridge, 
To Hector Grazing.