Harvest; fields peppered with corn blocks -
golden lego with black plastic roofs.
Wheat wheels in haphazard abandonment,
like bodies on a battlefield
awaiting the medics,
fork trucked tractor ambulances on their way.
Harvest; the return of a trawler;
its newly ploughed catch
a mixture of wheat and tares –
wheat for the fish factory,
tares for the gulls.
Harvest; the sigh of completion
as days shorten and the whisper of frosts
begin to welcome the days.
Harvest; the first imprint of unread book
delivered by midwife postmen –
what colour do we decorate the nursery ?
Blue for a novel, pink for poetry,
red for a murder.
Harvest; the bright sound of music
reaped from hours tending staves
feeding crotchets and weeding stray notes.
Harvest; the smile of a child
conquering the encounter with gravity
on the first successful bike ride,
“Look mum, no blood”.
Harvest; the catching of breath
at the end of a ‘never-again’ marathon
or the summit of steep steps
against the flow of the early Autumn rain.
Harvest: a walk into heaven
after a visit to calvary.