Someone probably said, considering there is nothing new under the sun, I knew the journey my spirit would take would be the one closest to my heart. That would be the earth and sky of course, a farm.
The details would be only as difficult as I could overcome and not more than I could handle. I would of course argue that premise. In retrospect it was the most influential segment of my life.
Directing and encompassing the who I became to love the Earth Planet as the grandest classroom ever given to viable, developing creatures with potential who worship learning.
Having said that, my wish is for overwhelming intellects equipped to keep our planet safe and prospering healthily so the young need not worry they will have no dotage.
It is a beacon to the Universes and we are more than one. And nowhere are the conditions as ripe for ideas with materials becoming expressions as this planet. Pray that we take only good what moth and rust do not destroy when we terminate our stay, so that we only enhance life elsewhere in whatever form, in gratitude for what we are gifted.
The Farm Woman . . .
Woman of the Earth, you are loved.
You gather the fruits of your labors
to your bosom and feed the children.
You’ve inched your way along the
dusty path with back bent in great fatigue
and cultivated rows yielding wise fruit.
You would feed out of your mouth those
you think hungry and then beyond measure.
The fruits are the heart of your labors , the harvest of
your mind’s philosophy, spilling indiscriminately.
Who is left to feed you, farm woman?
What commissary is left open to feed your
hungry soul after hours? What bookstall will
house the words between stiff covers
to increase your harvest?
Labor, till the sun closes its blinds on the day.
Restless legs will speed you through the night
to find the bins ever full.