The Road Beneath Our Feet

Processional

Across the meadow, from among the sheltering pines,
The furred ladies, discrete in their closeness, 
Follow one another in stately fashion.

Far from their rocky Channel island,
These Jersey ladies patiently plod the rocky highlands,
And return to paddock and barn,
Faithfully keeping to their path.

The setting sun, slipping down through forest and meadow, 
Lights the matrons’ way.
Soft lows acknowledge their pacific acceptance
Of day’s end, of obligations, and of their place in the procession.

— Janice F. Booth