30 years ago it was
scrub and prickers.
Of course, 30 years
before that it was
sturdy oak and beech,
soft hemlock and
slender birch.
But when the trees
were cut, the stumps
remained and the
prickers took over.
It has been many years now.
Many sweaty days of excavators,
of chain saws and of scything,
followed by mowing and the
scattering of seeds.
Seasons of rain.
Seasons of snow.
Finally, it is a
meadow of delight.
If I had a wish or a blessing
on this cold night, it would be
that all of your voices (that
I know only as beautiful words)
could meet in my meadow.
We could read to each other.
Or maybe,
not say anything
at all.
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