Chloe
Poetry on the sanctuary this morning. The quail scratched happily in the driveway where the sheep had left bits of their organic pellets from special treat time yesterday. The covey is huge this year, with at least 50 flowing out from beneath their safe haven in the blackberry brambles—how do quail run so smoothly? Down the slope, Chloe’s new Icelandic flock grazed: Truffles, the large shaggy sheep with a blue-black tongue like a chow; and Beau and Fleur-de-Lys, the twins who follow their wise leader Chloe like little shadows. Pegasus, the white unicorn horse, was on her way down the hill on her morning rounds. The donkeys were still enjoying breakfast in the barn. I was standing by the open gate to the fenced area where the animals spend their nights, smiling at the sight of all the happy beings, when another gift arrived. First one, then two, then three deer walked by, no more than 12 feet from me. Unperturbed by my presence, they turned and looked calmly at me as they passed. Aho Mitakuye Oyasin, all my relations.
