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

climbs

stop and hone

lean and breathe

birds in the drying grass

dance

the July

dance

                                July 1955,  July 2011