Haying the Field

Haying the Field

Hi ya! She hollered.
They’re haying the field today.
Want to come over?
We can watch the season change together
For while the machine chokes and sputters
On its bales of yesterday
I will take my rest
To itch for tomorrow and mourn turning time
To wish for more better spent and less mess made
But here we are
Smelling again of melancholy while the grass sea
loses its summer
We bury seeds meant for next year’s spring
Taking cue from the grass’s peaceful bow to the
hayer’s cut
So we resent not answers that bloom another day
As the field is cut now and wild later so too am I
But the golden light is constant
And so are you.
So, come. Sit with me to watch the haying of the field.