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
copyrights reserved by jenn weinshenker
