Fall into Place

sumac image


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.

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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