Hills of Gratitude

The flock is being rotated through paddocks on a quarter of land furthest South of the yard. With parcels of Native Prairie, wetlands, abundant brush, and hilltops of the highest elevation in our immediate area, it is my favorite piece of land. It’s both rough and smooth, rugged and delicate.

This afternoon Cajun and I moved the ewes to the last paddock on this quarter section. When I went back to collect mineral tubs, I paused on a high hilltop, my favorite dog milling beside me. A familiar feeling seeped in. A feeling of awe that there are two people here, and all this land.  A feeling of reverence because I exist in all this space.

I mean; I can walk a mile and not have left home.

I have sitting stones, hilltop views and hide-aways.

I have an unhindered view of the sunrise from my front step.

My dogs and I step out the door and we’re off for a free run.

I don’t leave to find a quiet place, I live in one.

What is before me on a daily basis, others only taste on a vacation or spend a lifetime seeking. This astounds me.

From the hilltop perch I watched two traveling combines gobble up a crop in the distance below. Grain truck parked at an approach to the field. Half tonne truck bumping its way along the far side. I felt gratefully conscious of the fact that I am no longer involved in a harvest lifestyle, not even to help.

I wondered if any of the harvesters are grateful for how much land they have.

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