I have no trouble getting enough exercise on the farm in summer, but in the winter it’s an entirely different matter. Most days, a walk out to our ponds is my daily activity, if I can manage it through the snow. I often bring the dog, who both loves it and hates it—he’s a whippet, and therefore more sensitive to the cold than your average farm lab. This poem was inspired by the rattly, dry husks of the bulrushes that grow on the far side of our larger pond that I encounter on that regular walk in the winter.
Bulrush
Flare in deep winter— brown and pink in the early sunset. It bears names well— bulrush, cattail feeder of the people. Your staunchness is what I need. Your silly fluffs freezing. Whatever. Something about you assures me of another summer.