Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Ode to Bittersweet Farms

The day begins here:
when the rooster's crow echoes off the mountains in the distance, saying hello and good mornin' to the sun.
I stretch and yawn, and find my way to the kitchen, lead by my mother's voice, "C'mere,
breakfast is done."

I skip, gallop, and run through the moistened grass
towards the winding brush creek.
I whip through the trees and leap through the rocks, pass
through the water, and examine cool shaped stones and crawdads that reek.

The distant distinct cries of the month old babies,
after being taken from their mother, the longing ache of the heifer's heartbreaking shriek
makes me furious at my father and drives him crazy.
But soon, as the calves grow tired and older, my complaints grow unnoticed and weak.

The garden full of roses and vegetables mix
with the powerful stench of the fresh manure.
Down yonder and around the bend is where we set up our picnics,
baskets full of invigorating fruits and homemade meals that draw such sweet allure.

Why must the day end, and with it, the brilliant sun always set?
I wish the colors would last; the reds, the oranges, the pink and yellow hues....
I'll say goodbye again, and I mustn't forget
that I'll see them soon.

Supper is made as we gather 'round the kitchen table.
We share with each other our thoughts, laughter, and ideas
as we begin and end each day feeling like we're able
to do anything that our heart desires throughout all ages.

Rainy days were the days that I preferred;
My body didn’t tremble with each intense strike of lightning in the purple-esque sky.
Aside from new life, rain also taught me that the angels were moving their furniture, with each roll of the thunder.
I felt comfort in the confines of my tin roof house and the tattering of raindrops that tingled gently made me sigh.

As the days turn to weeks, then months, and inevitably, years;
everything must change, life must go on.
My father, my dad, my daddio is always near,
Laid to rest upon that hill, overlooking every river bend, sunrise, sunset, cattle cry, and each mowed lawn.
Again, life must go on in this bittersweet life,
on this Bittersweet Farm.