Farming is forever humbling
Awake into a day that never ends
Time forever reminding you
That it stops for no one.
Death surrounds us
That ceaseless burden of seasons
At once begun and thus ending
Bringing with her death, decay, rot,
As well as growth, shoots, greenery
Catching and holding on to
Each ember of light
Allowing it to stay alive
And if, for some unseen reason
Light decides to shift away
Blocked out by some larger tree
Or shifting season
It is the humbling reminder
That our time is as once fresh
And mingled so tightly with death
That in the event our labour slows
A creeping natural chaos shall ensue
Taking hold of every dream
We ever dared to live towards.
And when you think that the day is done
When the sun has gone down
And invisible snipes roam the skies
Processing, dishes, last checks,
Predators, water,
The day is never done
To give you one last breath
Before you close your eyes
And say goodnight to no one
Since all have already found rest.
Category: farming
Planting an Orchard
Six steps
Apple tree
Compost on top
Twice
I’ve walked twice through this field
The first time was to clear
What had taken hold of my empty thoughts
The second pass was to remind myself
Of each burden I had come to lift,
Of all obstacles I have seen come and then go,
Of muscles and sinue of my body that has once been broken or sore
And now which holds me strong,
Of grasses and trees I have been graced to come to know,
Of each changing season that has changed my soul
Just as one changes their choice in clothes,
And when I returned to the spot I had started from
For I knew where I had come from
I knew I was once again
A changed man never to return
To the same footsteps I had just walked.
Wooden Chest
My hands of sawdust
Leaked thin oil of care
A blade beginning to dull
Against wood lacking edge
Thought I could not hold
Escaped my singing lips
Towards this mother wisdom
Inside my wooden chest.
Winds
Winds so softly blow against
Open breath of my morning
Definitely Arctic air
Lingering in it’s breadth
Curling around me as if to say
You are home, welcome,
And good morning to you Sir.
For me, it is as an alarm
Awake before I’m called
A sign I am still early
For a fresh day to my face.
Greeting, Sun
Greetings, Rooster
Greetings, fresh grass
Greetings, Wind
I am ready for today.
Silence Sail
I silenced my mind
To no prevail
A hope
That did unrail
And awoke myself
To orchard grass
Slowly loosening my veil
Then all at once
A rhythm began
Slowly filling my sail.
Last Year’s
Birds have returned
Little ones that come and go
Just as last year’s leaves blow.
Little ones with long legs
Wandering through puddles
Picking at worms I can only guess.
Birds swimming as schools of fish would
Landing amidst unmarked field
Seeds from last year’s crop to eat.
Big black crows and ravens
Messengers flying hither and tither
Eggs to find from last year’s abandoned nest.
Weathered Sentinel
I am not a ghost
I am a sentinel
Standing tall, proud
Weathered as I squint
Strong as I brave
Even the strongest gales
That pass before my flock.
My vision is far beyond
As stars, far above
Twinkle in clear moonlight
And I, weathered sentinel
Humbly remind mine ever quest.
Wind Swept Growl
Loud depth of wind
Sending a sliver of the moon
Into long blades of grass
Bellowing Autumn’s warm choice of a day
How dare minutes of this season
Fall away so effortlessly
Like the glimpse of a red lit night sky
Following in Sun’s same footsteps
Test not growing darkness’s patience
For caught you shall be if thy tarry lasts
Any longer than a deep breath of sorrow
For soon, that lone Mars shall break the starless trance
Last evening desires fade
As Coyote wakes to prowl
And guarding this fleece lined flock
A great Pyrenees longs his stretch and growls
Working and Frozen
Biting wind
Numbing feet
Hands slowing down