On Saturday night, we gathered in the barn, thankful for the cool air & a reason to celebrate and listen to insightful lyrics while resting on straw and hay and munching on fresh greens from the Tilian fields, yonder. (we raised $350!)
Since compiling these words on page early that morning, their truth calls me back more and more often to the barn, the fields, the rows of rooting brassicas and tamed patches of once tall grass where the goats graze and pigs root:
the stillness of this place 'fore barn swallows wake
the power hovering o'er misted fields
bearing up shoots of sun-kissed love to caress our lips and fuel our hungry depths
the freedom in the vastness of blue or clouds
the way the sun seems to fully absorb this ground
my feet are but small prints quickly covered.