Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Before Journeys \ Scythe Dance

Alan:  Here’s an old one.  The end of July, the first cool, dry air – summer starts to turn and a restlessness sets in.  Time, maybe, to think about moving on...

Before Journeys

Autumn seems here
and it’s not high summer.
They’ve slashed the cuttings,
bindweed dries in the wind.
What about the butterflies?
the garden we made for them?
Where are our friends
waiting for our return?

I take the train,
the kestrels are hungry.
Soon we will be gone.
They hunt the sidings.
The clouds play our shadows
the grasses hide nothing
the sun flaps away
on matters of his own.

Nancy: Finding a scythe in the old barn, I learned to cut the tall midsummer grass.  It felt like dancing, or ice skating.  Watching Alan swing his scythe – a newer, more elegant one – makes me sway; perhaps scything is like bike riding – you remember, your body remembers.

Scythe Dance                           
      for Alan

Step and swing
step and swing
cool morning air
the dew is on the grass
grass falling
meadow birds watching from fence posts
step and swing
stop and stone
edge the blade
turn and turn
catch the morning
the birds are calling
step and turn step and swing
the sun climbs
stop and hone
lean and breathe
birds in the drying grass
the July

                                July 1955,  July 2011

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