End of summer and the hay lies freshly cut in the meadows. As I look out over the expanse Emily Dickinson’s lovely poem The Grass comes to mind:
The grass so little has to do, — A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain,
And stir all day to pretty tunes The breezes fetch along, And hold the sunshine in its lap And bow to everything;
And thread the dews all night, like pearls, And made itself so fine, — A duchess were too common For such a noticing.
And even when it dies, to pass In odors so divine, As lowly spices gone to sleep, Or amulets of pine.
And then to dwell in sovereign barns, And dream the days away, — The grass so little has to so, I wish I were the hay!
Sophia on the other hand enjoys the freshly cut grass in her own way.
While Lilly has disappeared into the woods, Sophia runs and jumps for joy in the meadow. I see her sniffing intently along a row of hay and satisfied she dives in and rolls and rolls and rolls.
There is no reasoning with her in her euphoria – this moment makes her deaf to my command. Best not to worry about the treasure she has found and to continue on the way.
When we get home the girls truly are a mess. Lilly is covered in seeds from head to toe and Sophia smells to high heaven. Oh well it’s a dog’s life here at Sontheim and what is there to do but smile and let it be.