The Angus cattle in the pasture I’m whizzing
by are the deepest, darkest black I’ve ever seen.
And the bermudagrass is the brightest, lightest
lime green I’ve ever seen. But the sky is wise
enough to hold both the staid and the exuberant,
and the wind sets the grass to rippling, making
the cattle bob above it. They array themselves
on the brow of a hill as they digest the elation
of the grass twice, glistening. They must be
loving God with their whole hearts.