Bluff Country Morning
It takes a while longer
For sun to scale the bluffs
And burn off night’s drifting mist
In my corner of the world.
And so, the scene stays soft
Like a lingering dream
For a few moments more
While I ease into wakefulness.
While the sky glows pale yellow,
Then pink, then orange
I anticipate the sun’s hallelujah –
Its brilliance above the tree line
And I think maybe all new things
Should arrive so gently,
Announcing themselves with time
For sleepy souls to stir.
Around the county and into Iowa
The beekeeper tends to his high-rise hives.
A red truck appears rumbling down our gravel road
And he goes to work.
He is at least a third-generation apiarist
And these hives have been in place
Right where they stand, Since World War II.
The honey is good.
After he leaves, the bees may be miffed
And sometimes they vent their anger,
Chasing us inside with their peevish attacks.
They settle down soon.
Mostly they mind their own business
Making the fruit trees and vegetables produce,
Beautiful in their industry, singular in their purpose.
Peaceful as the dawn.
Kudos to all who tend the bees
Who care for those life-giving dynamos,
Who gather pure honey, one of man’s oldest foods –
And package the ambrosia in bottles.
Hide and Seek
Summer has called the game
And I am “It”
Seeking perfect specimens
Of green bean and bell pepper
The first ripe tomato
And cucumbers, small and crisp.
Blossoms make promises
And vegetables silently
Soak up the sun.
They stealthily grow
And crouch under leaves
While I call, “One, two, three,
Ready or not, Here I come!”
Sometimes I find them
And they enter my basket
Tagging along in the search for more.
The best hiders
Will soon be large and seedy,
Bloated, diluted, subprime.
But their reward is only a trip to the compost pile.
From a Homesteader’s Journal © Julie Little
Julie Little of Harmony has degrees in Journalism and Education with experience in newspapers, schools and libraries. She firmly believes that words are one of humankind’s best inventions.