Sunday, May 19, 2013

Last week, after I drove my husband to the field
and helped him change the flat tire on the harrow,
as he returned to the work with tractor and machinery,
I walked the land.
Across the hay field still early spring brown,
small birds flying up from bunched tufts of dried grass,
the high above me calling screech of a soaring watching hawk,
I walked toward the bush.
(When we were children, "I'm going to the bush," we would say,
a few minutes walk from our farmyard.)
I stood for a minute, on the edge,
looking at field, looking at trees,
and took the step,
sinking into the woods with a sigh.

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