the meadow sweeps before them—

an amphitheater, grass

piercing the recent light snowfall,

morning sun yet to bequeath warm.

amos speaks of the world

beyond the rocky outcroppings

that top the ridge like sentinels,

crenelations dividing this meadow

from the chaos that he and hattie

know too well. he speaks, almost to himself

of hardship and wrongs committed,

and of joy that comes from within.

hattie has heard this before, countless times, 

which doesn't lessen her appreciation.

~

the little ones, hardly less wooly

than the sheep, dressed

as they are in sheepskin coats,

hats and mittens, pile into

the wagon for the ride into town

and the friends' schoolhouse.

zoey snaps the reins in time

with the songs the kids sing,

and old theophilus seems to nod

in time with the music, his gait steady—

if somewhat resigned—

the meadow receding as the homes and shops

with chimneys and stove-pipes billowing,

signaling warmth within, come into view.