(at Mission Ranch, Carmel-by-the-Sea, California)

•••

Clouds meander overhead as
we graze on an open-to-the-sky
deck overlooking a vast pasture,
the cumulus rippling over
over meadow grass like waves,

watching dreadlocked sheep
munch soft green grass, taking
turns under a favorite low-hanging
branch for back scratches, their
black snouts raised in what seems
to us ovine ecstasy.

It is as bucolic a sight as any British
pasture where the ancestors of
these curly-horned shaggy sheep
hailed from. But we find ourselves
on the central California coast,
the ocean within sight at the end
of the long field as cheeky blackbirds
parade along the top of the white
wood fence next to our table,
sentries on the lookout for a treat.

It’s a perfect Sunday combination
of good food, a comfortable place
to rest under the hide-and-seek sun,
the sheep resettling themselves
in the grassland like shaggy clouds,
well fed and nodding off—
an excellent idea, we agree,
whether you are bald-headed
or fluffy with fleece.

•••

(for Dick Schmidt)