this snow,
this quiet,
this still field
of many mothers cooing
standing close by to preserve
this small life.
No siblings or peers to speak of,
none that have survived their arrival,
the winter calf becomes inward.
Watch him watching you
as you dole out the bails of grass,
as you call in the dogs,
as you try to take care.
Across the long expanse of yard
the winter calf stands for hours
watching the forest for signs of life
during the deepest cold in decades.
You cannot tell me that this one
is lonely.
He is loved for his singularity.
A source of hope for the mothers of loss;
a source of warmth during longer nights.
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