Bryce Angell is a cowboy poet. Angell was raised on a farm/ranch in the St. Anthony, Idaho area with approximately 75 head of horses. Horses remain an important part of Angell’s life.
Angell shares his poetry with Cache Valley Daily every Friday.
Winter times were frigid, and the skies were overcast. January weather was a
dreary polar blast.
When March arrived, the sun would shine, you’d finally feel its heat. This time of
year holds memories feeding hay for cows to eat.
I’d choose an afternoon with sunshine and a clear blue sky. Then climb up top the
haystack, prob’ly fifteen haybales high.
Back then the bales were smaller mostly eighty pounds or so. I’d dig around a bit
and try to open-up a hole.
One by one I’d throw a bale of hay off to the side. And make a square hole big
enough to crawl right in and hide.
I left the hole wide open. Let the sun bear down its heat. Then found a bale of
hay to sit. A warm alfalfa seat.
I sat there contemplating. Whittling hay stems with my knife. And realized how
blessed I was. There ain’t no better life.
And then the sun took over. Her warm beams put me to sleep. ‘Twas more than
just a catnap. More like forty winks so deep.
I dreamed of warmer days to come, with green grass in the field. No more
feeding cows with frozen gloves and fingers chilled.
I must have slept an hour, maybe two or even more. ‘Cuz there’s nothing like the
warm sunshine to heal and help restore.
But then as luck would have it, no more warmth to feel and hold. A black cloud
covered up the sun. Replaced with winter cold.
I woke up with a shiver. Figured, “Better get to work.” My loafing time was over.
Didn’t have the time to shirk.
From top the stack I gazed out at the cows in the corral. Then threw a half a
dozen bales to feed and keep ‘em well.
But when the days were sunny, you would see me top the stack. I’d be soaking up
the sun and praying summer to come back.