By Teresa Smith

This morning, I head out to my back porch with my tea, pen and journal. The horses come up and I run in to get carrots for them. Their beauty takes my breath away. They move on. I pick up a pen and see a small dark shape moving quickly through the field. It is a black fox. He looks young. On his way to the barn, I think. I wonder why. My cat sees him and begins to follow. Then thinks twice and settles on a tall rock to watch. Just then a deer ambles out of the woods and begins grazing. Just one doe. I wonder why she is alone. I pick up the pen and write a few words in my journal. I hear them before I see them. I cannot describe the sound they make. A flock of about 30 quail. Coming to see if I have planted any new rare and expensive seeds. The multigenerational family is mesmerizing. From the sentry male who sits on the fence. Keeping an eye out and maintaining safety for his flock. Hens and so many babies of all different ages. From the tiniest to the almost grown. I should be disgruntled for the enormous amount of seed I have planted and they have eaten. But I am not.