God and Nature Fall 2021
By Cheryl Grey Bostrom
Aw, God.
Your equinox, here again-
that sharp plow, come to cleave
the soil of seasons,
to slice September with waning days.
Gee! Haw!
At your voice,
time’s Percherons and mules,
Shires and Clydes,
all traces taut,
heave your slant-light blade,
curling summer (now tired and dry)
into furrows,
seedbeds of December’s dark composting.
Must I winter here? Again?
I feel them still, Lord,
those cuts from other dimmings,
other winters of heart.
Save me, Father.
Fly me south, will you?
Or,
remind me how to
walk the furrows.
Crease me with wisdom
I can follow in the bleak, until
your canted beam returns
to fold the earth to spring.
Aw, God.
Your equinox, here again-
that sharp plow, come to cleave
the soil of seasons,
to slice September with waning days.
Gee! Haw!
At your voice,
time’s Percherons and mules,
Shires and Clydes,
all traces taut,
heave your slant-light blade,
curling summer (now tired and dry)
into furrows,
seedbeds of December’s dark composting.
Must I winter here? Again?
I feel them still, Lord,
those cuts from other dimmings,
other winters of heart.
Save me, Father.
Fly me south, will you?
Or,
remind me how to
walk the furrows.
Crease me with wisdom
I can follow in the bleak, until
your canted beam returns
to fold the earth to spring.
From the International Plowing Match, Lynden, Washington, Spring 2021. Note how one animal walks the plow’s last furrow in order to keep the team's course straight.
Award-winning author Cheryl Grey Bostrom is a Pacific Northwest native, naturalist, and avid photographer. A former teacher and columnist, she lives with her husband and two irrepressible Gordon setters in rural Washington State. Her novel SUGAR BIRDS was released August 3, 2021.
Award-winning author Cheryl Grey Bostrom is a Pacific Northwest native, naturalist, and avid photographer. A former teacher and columnist, she lives with her husband and two irrepressible Gordon setters in rural Washington State. Her novel SUGAR BIRDS was released August 3, 2021.