Autumn's Calf Sales

Autumn's calf sales.
These are marked by sleepless nights.
First there is the herding and drafting.
Cows and calves separated by barb and hinge-joint.
And until the bawling offspring are trucked off to sale-yards,
Night and day their anguish rings into the sky.
I hear their bellows in the quiet of the evening.
I hear it again around midnight,
When I wake from un-remembered dreams.
It is the first sound I notice despite the birdsong,
Heralding the new day.
As the sun is peaking over the horizon,
I go outside and into the paddocks,
I see the grieving cattle.
The light casts them in long shadows and a wispy blanket of mist.
The bereft mothers with udders that strain and ache with excess milk,
That will never again be suckled by this year's calves.

Easter

It is Easter in the Southern Hemishere.
Children go to school in their,
Chick and bunny Easter bonnets.
They colour in,
And search for chocolate eggs.
The weather is cooling.
Daylight saving, in its death throws seems ridiculous.
We antipodeans celebrate the coming of Spring.
Yet my chickens have almost ceased laying.
I am gathering firewood for winter.
The last of the harvest,
The quinces, are being processed.
It is as bizarre as snow covered Christmas cards.