We grubbed out the apple trees, ploughed
and weeded, and waited through the winter
then we harrowed, seeded and rolled.
I would never have guessed the beauty
captured in the movement of long grass
the sway and flow of it in the wind.
And now, after mowing, before
the first of three turns, I am entranced by
the felt weight of it already turning gold.
If you wish, you can add your own analogies
here: effort, timing, patience, reward.
Or, you can just stay with the grass
watch the wood pigeons settle
on the layered tresses searching for seeds.
Close your eyes, breathe. The scent of it.