Encircling.
The grassed land yields
to the spades sharp edge.
It has been many a year
since this soil was last laid bare
and now as the upended sods
are lain on their backs
so that the turf lies buried.
I smell the earth’s sweetness
and feel a light breeze
touch the back of my hand,
the sun on the hill line
reminds me of the time of day
and a chill begins to cool
the sweat on my back.
Before gathering the tools
I stop and stand straight
old Oaks in the woods
loose their brown leaves.
to lie on the woodland floor.
The fluttering clattering fall
shatters the day’s quiet.
Young Oaks on the field edge
sway, waving gently
holding their leaves tight
waiting for the warmth
of a late spring day
as if unwilling to relinquish
memories of summer, of youth.
A thought of children
now. And another
encircling year begins.
