The sheep wriggles under the shearer's steady hand, but his experience tells him just how to keep her still. She is propped up on her bottom, legs straight out, her plump belly drooping over her hips and thighs. She is relieved to have the strain of pregnancy taken from her back and she leans into the shepherd's legs. She is calm now, ready for the early spring shearing. An experienced mother.

The shearer move his blades skillfully over the belly, down the shoulders and hips, and finally across the back, pulling the thick winter wool off in one large sheet. He releases her to let her huddle with her bare flock. The sheet of wool is thrown onto the table where I stand, ready to pluck out the imperfections.

I plunge my stiff hands deep in the fleece, having only been off the body for seconds, and capture the warmth before it escapes into the cool, thin air. However, as I press my face into the soft blanket, wisps of steamy warmth slither out and up into the morning sky only lingering for a second, suspended, before they dance off.

My hands are sticky from the natural oils in the wool. It is cooling down quickly now and I am determined to pick it clean before the very last bit of heat disappears. Impatient cries from the sheep fill the barn until the last one is shorn. The sun rises and new warmth makes its way to my skin. Winter is gone, spring is here, and lambs are on the way.

by Jodi H