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The “Open field” at Evening Song Farm — the setting in mind for this poem.

humid mid-morning

air —

heavy upon the Land

— lifted by rising sun.

the (farmed) flora’s dew bore no burden with its weight

to the soil beneath it, which drank it: where the microbes


alive in their Matter; more movement in moisture.

sweltering for us who toil, gladly, together, enduring day,

knowing from yesterdays

that soon noon will bake.

but breezes come, and complement

— in correspondence — pouring pores.

Ethereal relief.

from clearing to canopy cover,

a perhaps — more sustainable — reprieve

in cool, still, shade.

but if there: hearing, seeing, knowing clearing’s wind

without feeling its gusts.

Wonder is at once binding

and compelling.

What (Who) is at the edge adjacent — transition zone — of both Field and Forest, where the wall of Trees’ Leaves wag,

where the Earth in which those Trees’ Roots are bound remains firm; surrounding ground kept tight, too, by perennial Grasses, untilled.

would-be-Weeds scatter Seeds. Insects innumerable.

Boulders, Birches, baby Beeches

pervasive Parviflorus, Rubus — Thimbleberry barrier;

casual Crow, and high Hawk:

down to high Branch, pursuing Vole(s) below — their Tunnels and Homes amid Roots and Rock.

Life is as much each of all of Them, of Us, as what is in, and of, the in-Betweens.

Where We meet to become the most “of” each Other: tangents —


with Relation.

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