It’s set to be a gorgeous, blue-sky 50′ February weekend in Portland. Let’s take a field trip to a farm to see the animals.
We’ll drive down the road and see on either side “those dear old ladies, / the loosening barns,” barns hiding deer and tractors.
When we get to the farm, we’ll visit the sow Blackula, lying in her pen “in the mud to consider herself.” (She is being closely watched from a fence post by the “excellent clamberer,” the cat Jeoffrey).
Off to the left, there’s a field of sheep. There are both black-faced sheep “not shrewd like the pig,” and gray sheep on a stony hill. (The farmers tell tall tales of sheep children.) There are cows, of course, and ponies who “come gladly out of the willows / To welcome” us, and horses and a mule.
There are white chickens in the yard chased by a dog who “has his own dog’s life to live / and to think about / and to reflect upon.” And flying about, there are butterflies and hornets.
And this morning, and again tomorrow morning, the roosters will wake everyone up out of the “gun-metal blue dark” to consider the apple tree.