The days are longer now, giving the earth more hours to suck in the warmth, leaving the concrete wall by the barn the hot spot to hang out and commune. It is the water cooler of the barnyard where small statured goats can collect and look out at the lower fields. Who knows what they think when they go into a zen state prior to their cud chewing. I have conversations with them, of course, and share them in story to relay my feelings of the day, but their inner thoughts are as private to them as mine are to you. Nobody ever really enters that sanctum of any of us - and this is good for all parties.
These first days of spring are so pleasant, before the flies and bugs arrive with the warm air allowing a shirt without sweater, and rarely does one break into a sweat.
It's just another day on the wall with the goats, hanging out, all of us in our own thoughts. They stand on the wall not much wider than a balance beam, looking right, left, then right, like royalty in a passing car. But these goats don't need a palace - not with the warm wall and a stall of straw to bed down in, the moon leaking in through a hole in a tin roof.
