the farmer

he holds the long
hand hewn stick.
slowly, his arms lift high
then down they bring the metal
to rock earth.
again, the motion flows
a dance I watch in early dawn.
now raised up to a sky
filling with color
as day begins.
slow rhythm, this dance of life.
for the small field
cleared piece by piece
with hands callused and worn by time
brings life in mountains
now damp with rain.
the dance of morning song
born of time long distant
as the ancient thread
weaves
time eternal
and arms slowly
rise
and fall
with the passage of the day.

Sylvia D. Campbell, MD
September 20, 2000