A parable of marriage

Christian Century, August 21, 2007 by Steve Wilson

A parable of marriage

   Disregarding the heat, we settled down to it:
   clearing a path through the elmwood and oak.
   It's slow going--an all-day job. Stones fat

   as watermelons. Quick, gray blades of limestone
   layered into the ground a foot or more.
   We rooted them out with crowbars, a shovel,

   or dug them free by hand, then tossed
   the rocks into a wheelbarrow. Tomorrow,
   they'll be put to use: load by load we'll haul them

   up the hill for a border, follow
   our new trail straight on to the high west
   pasture. Where late in the day sun breaks

   against shade, burns whitest fronting the treeline
   of the woods--light upon shadow--we
   stopped work for the night. Passing you

   the last drink of water from the canteen,
   I nodded toward home, and we traced the way
   back down in silence, the only sounds

   a locust, the snap of twigs, our workboots
   scraping over rock shards and dust.
   We kept close to ourselves, listening.