a Good Farmer and Me
He's growing corn again in the field by my old house.
Been a few years since it was planted last.
The green rockets, pulsing upwards,
Leafy green contrails lolling behind.
All of this regrowth comforts me.
The crops measure linear time
into large non-confrontational cycles.
Always rebounding,
constantly transforming.
A crop rotation is patience.
With only the present picture available
a Good Farmer must envision the layers yet to come.
Without a bird's eye view from the future,
a Good Farmer must still see the salad,
and know it's worth the wait.
There is no nostalgia for a Good Farmer.
no goodbyes,
all season's greetings.
yet increasingly the memory of the Autumn
of My youth,
is so singular
and only grows further away.
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