The fallow fields are to the south
This time of year
The fields closest to the farm
And farthest from the hills
When the farms are gone
The fields stay for awhile
Before the pine and aspen grow
I walk there sometimes
Those fields left to yarrow
And dandelions
All the more beautiful
For the briefness of their fierce embrace
Of colour
Of living
These are the fields I remember, long after they have passed
I think a lot about the changing face of the land around me. It is always beautiful.
If you’d like to see some more colour, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here.
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