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09/11/08 - (1)
Eye-Level with Autumn
Take state highway 231, out of Greencastle, Indiana, Three miles north, to county road 250 North, With browning, head-high corn, to your left, Soybeans ripening to a rich yellow, on your right, And you arrive at a thirty-six acre spread —
Just a step or three Back into early-twentieth-century America, Where cribs and silos, filled to their brims, Stood vigil, over farmhouses, pastures, fields, barns, Homesteads unviolated by modernity's many devices —
Right here, in the heartland's fertile crescent, Where people's histories, entire lives, Are intertwined, inextricably, intimately, With what rises up out of the soil And even the soul worships nature's miracles.
In this peaceful isolation, A redolence of the past lingers on the fecund air, The wide skies punctuated by scudding clouds, Watching over circling turkey buzzards, hooting owls, Bounding deer, snorting pigs, lowing cows. For two days, I've indulged in these bounties, Savoring the soft, Septembering glow Of late summer slowly coming home, Toward autumnal harvest, And having had this chance to listen, at eye-level,
To the dialogue I've heard, seen, for myself, Between soybeans and corn, I can tell you that all's yet well, in this rural realm, This sanctuarial land teeming with tranquillity, Asking only that man tend it, with gentle hands.
09/11/08 - (1)
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