Fall into Place

sumac image

Listen.

To the language of lichen on stone,

the twist of a birch branch,

leaves cart-wheeling across the ground,

the dry rattle of spent flowers.

The flame of sumac has a sound.

You can hear the dark line of tide shifting.

On this farm:

A white horse lowers its head to the music.

A woman rubs a pale wheel of cheese with crushed herbs.

The taste of the forest is a love poem.

The goats bounding down the hill,

the tinkling of bells,

yet there are no bells,

just the fleeting sound of simple joy.

The woods singing.

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One thought on “Fall into Place

  1. Thank you for sharing your poetry; your life, your farm, your nature, your love. Art reaches a level of communication that can penetrate through all the chaos of modern life. I look forward to your future insights on these circles; and, of course, all the life-enhancing yogurt and kefir I consume from your loving kitchen. Also, anticipation is growing for your goat cheese.

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