Saturday, August 7, 2004

Driving from Hitchin to Pirton again this morning, I noticed that three more fields have been harvested early. HARVEST HOME   He stuck the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, lit it, coughed again. Above the cornfield, crows   rose up like ashes. He watched them riding thermals into the thick blue. Shifting his weight (husk-   weight, light as chaff), he squinted tears, refracted the bright, hard truth of corn on the edge of culling   into every August past.  From scythe to combine he had breathed the dust, sweated the daylight up to   harvest home and beyond. Now breath was measured, here, on a doorstep chair a day or two from harvest.     11:01:32 PM    Mmm? []

© Copyright 2006 Dick Jones. Last update: 7/1/06; 08:48:04.