Quandary farm

Christian Century, Oct 4, 2003 by Temple Cone

Quandary farm

   The morning came and went.
   Long shadows were lifted, set
   angellike on pine-tops,
   white-crowned clover swaying in the yard.
   By the door, tinging wind chimes
   I bought once for a gift
   never sent.

   Missing the day, I go down
   to the stables. A haze
   of hay-dust pools at my feet.
   The horses are in Charleston.
   their training done, steeplechase season
   closing in. Dark stalls, stacked bales,
   a bridle hangs from a wall.

   And in the pastures, the chicory's blue
   pointillist flowers open again.
   Each lasts a day. Come evening,
   they'll curl tight as spiders
   wintering under eaves.

   Autumn, and all
   the breads we can bake,
   are weeks away. The poplars, too,
   have sensed it, their yellow leaves
   marked purple along the stem.
   Tonight we'll lie on blue sheets,
   restless as robins
   who sing before dawn.