Autumn Equinox Then
Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay."
Theodore Roethke, "I Knew A Woman"
The deep prairie horizon that tells what the weather
Will be darkens, foreshortens, the line between air
And the earth, two ancient elements, becoming one,
A kind of alchemy from which wind and then rain
Will ensue; a premonition of both in the late summer
Maples, their leaves that have been turning and
Falling quietly becoming a rush of sound and color.
In the field the last cutting of hay has been turned,
Raked and dried and baled; the rush to bring them
Into the barn before the rain where they are lifted
From hand to aching hand and fit like puzzle pieces
Into the loft; bits drift down to the impatient horses.
Tomorrow, after the storm, they will follow me as
I walk the fence line, waiting for the windfall apples.
There are the last blackberries and gooseberries
To be picked, hard and tart now, black walnuts
To be gathered and shelled, deadfall to be sawn
And stacked. A season ends and another begins.
Life goes on into the familiar and the unexpected.
Poetry by countryfog
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Written on 2015-09-20 at 00:53
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