The night comes,
deep and cold.
Under the brilliant light
of the full moon,
the flocks in the field
glow white.
They have finally quieted,
after something in the night
spooked them.
Their bleating I fear
will draw the wolves
down from the high mountains.
For now at least,
the cold has them huddled together
and quiet.
I get up,
stretch my legs
and run a slow, loping circuit
of the field,
stopping occasionally
to test the wind with my nose.
My eyes cannot pierce
the darkness of the woods,
but two nights ago
a she-wolf took a ewe.
we tracked her down
and killed her,
but we lost the ewe.
From scent and sign,
we know
she was part of a larger pack.
Wolf, Coyote, Cougar;
it is nearly spring
and the hunters seeks
to fill their lean bellies.
My brothers and I keep watch,
for The Shepherd feeds us
and keeps us
and our only joy is to please Him.
The flock is His,
the fields are His
and we will happily lay down our lives
to protect them.
I complete my circuit of the field,
having found no scent,
no sign, or sound.
On a rock,
high enough to give me
a good view of the fields
and the flocks
and the sky,
all lit with silver moonlight;
I settle in to my watch.
In the hills,
far away,
yet clear to my ear,
I hear them howling.
Baying in their hunger
at the moon.
Soon they will come
and I will be ready.
HG – 2017
