The Field

The wind rustles through the dead stalks,

sun-burnt brown,

standing lonely, close together

in the field desolated by harvest.

Few survive in the late autumn light

mottled green and brown

alive but not healthy.

 

Time then to turn them under

into the dark brown earth,

crushing the stalks to dust.

Providing food for the soil

while it sits, baked by frost

until spring arrives

and new crops can be planted.

A healthier strain this time,

built on the successes and the failures

of seasons past.

 

Rooted in new understanding,

they will grow strong and tall,

bearing beautiful, hearty fruit.

 

© 2008 Jill Joy

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