Not past relationships.
Not the work involved with raising pigs, chickens, steers, horses.
But, springtime on a ranch – that I seriously miss.
The flurry of activity.
Red-Winged Blackbirds. Meadowlarks. Bluebirds. Raptors.
Pop guts sticking their fuzzy little faces out of their holes, blissfully ignorant of the fact that their futures are very limited
The essence of green that you feel before you can see.
The scent of thawing soil.
The newness, the surprises, that every day brings.
The itch to plant.
Worms.
The breeze, coming off the fields, bringing the tiniest hint of warmth.
The fecund sense of fertility.
Sex is in the air.
high desert darlin' 