the pasture

 

 the path I walked in rubber boots
 along the seeded furrow
 was bunched and brown and wrinkled
 like the worn muddied pants
 of a young boy whose played outside all day
 
 as I stood and watched the wind rolling over the dormant fields
 stirring up seed and dust into the wide open sky
 revealing traces of new life breaking through
 Earth’s brittle crust
 and listened to returning song birds
 orchestrate their joyous anticipation
 of an early spring rain
 I thought
 just look what has come up out of the ground
 without my hand or inclination
 

 

 

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