An overnight
by the meadow
under trees
rustling breeze,
my grown daughter
and her children,
they asleep,
we heard coyotes,
young ones yipping
in delight,
owls, insects,
and rustling in grass,
then faint smell
of a skunk.
“Daddy?” she asked.
“How do you do this?”
“What?” I said.
“Sleep out here,
like this.”
“I just curl up,
and sleep.”
“But…
How…?”
I then realized
in her whole life
she’d never slept
outside.
Poem by Duane Herrmann
Herrmann was surprised to find himself in 1951 on a farm in Kansas. Still trying to make sense of that, he’s grown fond of grass waving under wind, trees and moonlight. His work has been published in print and online, even some of both in languages he can’t read.