Fall is nearly upon us — my favorite time of year. Vibrant colors, creatures on the move, and the results of sun, rain, and the long labors of our farmers culminate in harvest time. I would like to offer this amateur piece as a tribute to the keepers of our God-given harvest, and to anyone who has spent enough time in nature and on a farm to know first-hand, the still of the row.
Some seemingly ordinary photos I shot in the fall of 2003 inspired this piece. When I look at them from the asphalt slab of the Twin Cities, it is all too clear what the big city can never be, naturally. I personally believe the piece is lacking without the photos. Hence, I am providing small sample of the all-digital scrapbook page I made for this poem. Just scroll down this page to view it.
I hope you enjoy it.
That’s my report from the “Big City”.
Brian in the Big City Employee #0090698
Still of the Row by B. William Driscoll
Fall enters now More than anything it is harvest time The smells, hues and crunch of it all A call for some, a sight for others The still of the row is untold
An ebb and flow of change Spooky waters in skies aglow Tassels swaying a signal, “we’re ready” Stalks so tall, so weary and worn now The still of the row is a haven
Town folk whiz past Leaves dancing, rustling, waving up high A harvest greeting in a moment For the fleeting and swift The still of the row is abiding
Press further, acres inward Venture in and bend your knee For in this place, down low in the dim The forests of fall crown The still of the row
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