Sometimes I catch her gazing at the sunrise.

She faces east

and looks up, staring

as she chews her hay.


She seems to be contemplating;

but, what?


She cannot fathom its creator.

She cannot understand beauty or delight

such as I do.

She cannot compare it to yesterday

or wonder if it will be there tomorrow.


Yet she gazes,

her eyes fixed on some

luminous point,

ears relaxed,

body quiet.


And I think maybe she is just

acknowledging the sun

for what it is –


after long hours of darkness.


And I think maybe she is right.

Maybe she’s onto something.