Open Fields

I stand in the open field
where the spring wind had dried the mud into dirt
and the greeen slips of alfalfa bend with the wind.

My eyes are closed,
I feel, rather than see, the cloud shadows scud over me.
Cool, then warm, then cool again.

Tell me, distant friend,
do you ever stand such?
Rooted, blind, waiting?
Do you listen for the north wind to say, “Here, here”
And do the windbreak trees answer “There, there”?

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2 thoughts on “Open Fields

  1. eireplusalba says:

    Answer is yes (if there ever was the question). And I like the word ‘alfalfa’ 🙂

    • odhran25 says:

      Thank you! And for your lovely “yes.” Alfalfa is a great word, no? And to anyone who grew up around it cultivated in fields (it’s a food crop for livestock), the smell of it when it is cut is wonderful. I remember during the cutting season, late summer evenings, we’d drive around country roads with all the windows rolled down just to smell it everywhere in the air. Thank you for reading and please enjoy the other poems.

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