Four o’clock December sun
casts shadows of bare trees
stretched over the dried
and golden corn fields.

Fields and fields.
Corn, soybean; hills.
Fields separated
by trees, fences and farms.

I’ve stopped here and there
to consoul a restless child.
Felt the sun and wind.
Barking dog, cawing crows.

Nearly daily I drive this route
struggling against desensitization,
looking for changes;
noticing the familiar.

Where I stand becomes real!
Like realizing each stranger
is too a mother’s child
like mine.

Don’t miss, don’t miss, don’t miss…
Too often drifting unconsciously
in and out of past or future.
Each field magnificent.

I love my Michigan home.
These fields that look the same,
are upon close inspection, always changing
against the mark of a shadow from the sun.

Photo Credit