Soundings


by Joyce Sutphen


In the afternoon of summer, sounds
come through the window: a tractor
muttering to itself as it

pivots at the corner of the
hay field, stalled for a moment
as the green row feeds into the baler.

The wind slips a whisper behind
an ear; the noise of the highway
is like the dark green stem of a rose.

From the kitchen the blunt banging
of cupboard doors and wooden chairs
makes a lonely echo in the floor.

Somewhere, between the breeze
and the faraway sound of a train,
comes a line of birdsong, lightly
threading the heavy cloth of dream.

Comments

  1. Wonderful poem. Very interesting photo.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Because of the long winter and cold spring - harvesting is behind here by about 3 weeks.

    Your pic made me look twice.

    ReplyDelete
  3. I too glanced twice at the picture-first time convinced I was dizzy again and the second confused. :)

    ReplyDelete
  4. There's just so much to love about this poem.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Sigh . . . another perfect pairing of perfect words and perfect image! You are something else!

    ReplyDelete

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Hey, thanks for your thoughts and your time:>)

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