Conditions have to be perfect
For the eye to catch a speck of light
A reflection so perfect,
The angles just so
For sunlight to bounce through a pupil
A car windshield, three miles away
Crossing the Captree Causeway Bridge
Catches a ray, transmits it to my eye
A silver shard of sun
That instantly dissolves
Lots happening in mid-July
Perfect timing for insects and herbs
It’s as if they were waiting for this moment
Heat, growth, water, all converge
Who is attracting whom?
Cabbage butterflies congregate in lavender
One thinks food, the other continuity
This frenzy at midday
Essential oil aerosols and manic wasps
On bee balm flower heads
Flies, bees, beetles
It’s a carnival, a feast
A homecoming medicine cabinet
HER DIVINE CAKE,
WALNUTS AND CRANBERRY
MOIST AND TASTY
SITS ON A TABLE
¾ GONE, KNIFE NEARBY
OTHERS KNOW AS WELL AS I
JANE ANN HAS BAKED A LOAF
BROUGHT IT TO HOMECOMING FARM
OH THE JOY OF TAKING A BREAK
FROM WEEDING OR HARVESTING
TO SIT A WHILE, SWIG SOME WATER
AND…
ENJOY A SLICE OF JANE ANN’S CAKE
OCTOBER 30, 2015
POET IN RESIDENCE, TOM STOCK
Smack in the center
Of fifty growing beds
I make a slow clockwise turn
Looking and listening.
The remnants of last seasons’ leeks and kale
An open landscape with sky and trees
A water tower where ravens hang
A tall brick building on the west
Small aircraft drone overhead
Granite gravestones just beyond the compost pile
A double line of Norway maples
Beyond that, the Dominican cemetery
The hoop house, tool shed, garlic building
The port a potty, the processing station
The utility shed and distribution tent
What is all this without the people?
Farmer Don, Director Elizabeth
The interns, work/ share holders
In a collaborative symphony
Of grace, friendship, and cooperation
All part of a great turning
Of a world integrated
Alive, relevant, and intelligent
And most of all, one person
A Dominican nun
Who invites us to come home
And we have.
It bellows with volume
You sure can hear from quite far off
The whole farm laughs with him
What could be better than to fertilize
The soil with laughter
To weed under the hot sun with his laughs
It nourishes the produce
A chuckle is for sissies
A hearty laugh.. the whole world hears
His diaphragm is strong from laughing
It pushes up full strength air
That vibrates those vocal cords
With bombastic, full sized, firm laughs
He defines laughter
Vibrating air that comes from joy
Up from the soil – out of the darkness
Chocolaty loam – the womb incubator
Velvet loam – soft, fertile, ready
Seeds just planted – water to soften their coat
Seedlings first primal leaves, then true leaves
Farmers boots – walks by checking
Compost – decayed organics, full of nutrients
Sunshine – warmth for growth
Weeds – rushing in to take their place
Hands – volunteers weeding, planting, tilling
In an open, brown field,
Dark brown from recent rain.
Furrows run north-south.
It rests in early November
From roots that have sucked its fertility.
I stand in its center,
Look in all directions,
Feel feet sink into its softness.
This triggers a longing
To return to the garden
To press two fingers against thumb,
Push them into the dirt,
See if it is dry enough
To transplant, make furrows, dibble holes
Rake, cultivate, fertilize;
Plant, weed, harvest.
(Title from the 2nd movement of Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony)
Even as I leave the car
And walk across the lawn
I can feel the difference
There are open views
Garden beds
A long line of maples
The drama of clouds
There is instant palpable relief here
I have entered Homecoming Farm
An oasis in North Amityville
Where Dominican Nuns
Live with ravens
The stress of driving here is gone
Small problems remain in the parking lot
I hear faint conversations of two women
Weeding the leek bed.
I see the produce ready for pick up
The volunteers are smiling, laughing,
Everyone seems at ease
Although the farm is a remnant of what one was
A patchwork quilt of farms a century ago
The Dominicans are keeping the tradition
Of growing, healthy, organic food
And cultivating cheerful feelings
Women in white dancing
Long, light, fleecy gowns
Twirls, swirls,
Spins, and swings
In a dim basement
We watch from the sidelines
They float in space
Flakes in a snow shower
Dancing on a dark floor
A dozen of them
A ballet of white
Rising and falling
I in white stockings
Graceful, flying
A mirage, a dream
Float, and join, and part
Infant Earth birthed Her first cloud
After waiting millions of years
For Her hot steam to escape a cooling globe.
Finally, Her vapors condensed into droplets.
Forming a thick, solid cloud layer
Completely shrouding Her body
Like a naked woman,
Who, surprised by an intruder, robes in modesty.
Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén