Campari and Orange

Glass in hand
hammock
swinging –
glimpse a Painted Lady
chance to catch her breath
on willow-woven fence
wings outstretched
aquiver
at the whim
of the wind.

On the hill
cows for milking
in undulating never-ending line
lethargically
trundle.

Shade my eyes;
sight the field that lies
between two bristle pines;
all but shine
last year’s cones
golden-bronze
sun-dried.

Sink the dregs of
my Campari
as a day-weary sky
turns pink
then orange.

The distant bark
of a muntjac to its mate –
splices the silence
of it all
and I wish life
hadn’t left it this long
to find me.