Wonderings

As we work
the old man stands off to the side
in one of the cattle pens
his arms crossed, resting atop a walking stick.

I once heard that his eyes pierce
that in the deceptive quiet
his mind is whirling
calculating his next business move.

I think I see a twinkle in his eye,
the silence seems warm and friendly,
broken now and then
as he joins the conversation.

I wonder.
Perhaps I am naive
but I prefer to see
this man my friend.