Raindrops beating on the tin roof, gather in the rafters to drip down onto the hard packed dirt floor. The scent of cattle mellowed with the sweetness of hay. My favorite hiding place on a rainy day. The warmth of her side as I lean my forehead against her flank, hands in motion beneath, pulling rhythmically, the steaming frothy jets of milk hitting my pail. Cats are clamoring nearby hoping for a treat. Roll over, purr, show me what good kittens they can be... beggars. Please, they seem to say, rubbing along my legs. The cow watches them carefully, beautiful brown eyes wary for any sign of treachery. The warmth, smells sounds and textures of the barn lull the mind. Sometimes after milking the cow will lie down in a soft pile of loose straw and I will lean against her side, chewing on a straw, trying to match my breathing to hers. She chews her cud contentedly.. I let my mind drift to daydreams. The old dog lays at my feet.. tail thumping. I want to run with him again, like we did when we were both pups, but he is no longer a pup. My favorite companion, he acts as though he understands my every thought, perhaps he does. On a cold damp day he can hardly walk, his joints are so stiff. I wish he would stay at home by the fire, but it is in his nature to stay by my side. Sometimes I have to carry him home. I wonder if, when I am old, will someone be there to pick me up when it hurts too much to move? He is a treasure, this old man dog of mine. Always glad to see me no matter how I look or how grumpy I am. I think today, about the people I know, how one day they love you and the next seem to forget you. Cats are cool, far too cool to depend on. They love you when they want to and then walk away switching their tails. I have heard some men comparing women to cats.. sometimes with good reason. I prefer the old dog and the placid, if slightly stupid, cow. They are always what they seem, no pretensions, few complaints, unless dinner is very late. I get the curry from its hanger on the wall and brush the loose fawn colored hair from the cow. Her sides twitch as if it tickles and occasionally i would swear she smiles. The old dog snores. Rainy days in the barn are good for thinking... overwhelming problems aren't so hard to sort out there. The work is cathartic and the company is good. The old dog, the cows and even the self -centered cats.

Are you going to enter in the prose challenge? You draw beautifully vivid mental pics Shanna :-)

Challenges, well, I write what I feel at the moment so it's hard to tell if what is challenged will be something I can write about. We will see. Thank you for your kind comments :D

A real twinge shot through me at "Sometimes I have to carry him home." I've had to do that myself. Your sense of imagery is just fantastic. jon

I would think this is much closer to a vignette than a poem. Since it's not really in the form of a stanza. Its so close to a paragraph now that that's probably the right direction for it. I feel some poetic elements in prose are ok, though most others would disgree. It tends, in my opinion, to make it a better read.

Oh, sorry tjames, it was not meant as a poem. It started as an essay that went horribly awry.

Tjames: "I feel some poetic elements in prose are ok, though most others would disagree." REALLY? I think there are a lot of elements that are common to both, take imagery and alliteration, metaphor and the power of a finely crafted phrase. I think most others would agree, rather than disagree. Of course, there are some poetic elements that don't work as well in prose. Rhyme is one of those. Were you thinking of something I'm missing?

No I'm thinking of horrible literal types who consider poetry and prose totally seperate things. I think that a public speaker who fails to use some poetic elements might as well hang it up...Some of my professors had the most interesting snnnzzzzzz. Writing is no different.