In spring, one loft door opens to greening grasses springing up at the cement base, and the bulls bellowing for their cows. Palm size baby bunnies nibble the new sweet blades. Wild roses, heavy with buds, sit close under vibrant violet lilacs. Rains fill make-shift ponds for birds.

In summer, both loft doors open letting any breeze swing through to cool as the tall grasses dance across the filed and the cattle surround the water tank. Bunnies stay cool under the lilac bushes, and horses graze the pasture.

In fall, one or two loft doors open bringing warm sun in or a cool breeze. Grasses are brittling, ready to rest. Bawling calves must be on their own as new ones grow in the bellies of their mammas. The scent of rose and lilac has faded and the rabbits linger in the waning light.

In winter, one loft door is open, a layer of white blown in at the the base. The bulls, alone now, make their way to some early morning hay. A well-earned dormancy drapes the brown and white land.

Up in the loft–I watch and try to capture this life with words floating up from the seasons and in through the doors.