This Much I Do*

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The soil smells of promise

Low spots all dried up

Last year’s scruff calling for turnover

Team watches me adjust the discs

Shaking heads as trappings jangle

Anson will take the left this year

Old Caleb the right

Two young uns midst

And still learnin’ the trade

Much too eager yet

Competitive, even

I call the straight and narrow

Rooks above call the tune

For mid-afternoon outing

As clouds race merrily above

Knowing this wind is spring

And the blue not a disappointment

Right hand hurts

With the arthritis

Thankfully left still has the tug and touch

Anson gets the message

As if those reins were telegraph

And we’re off for first acreage

All the old metal squeaking with joy

Father used to talk to it

As I clung to his right

Feeling every rock through steel seat.

At the headland Caleb plants

His power as fulcrum

Ansen choreographs the sweep

Good sports all

And back we go

Fine pace setting in

As April gets ready to leave.

Late season with those snows

God is good.

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* for the prize of the high calling (Philippians 3)

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Published by

issuudotcomslashdewane

Married and father of two. Living in Waterloo, Ontario. Workplace health and safety professional. Blogger. Poet. Nature hiker. History buff. Inspirational writer. Newsboy for Jesus.

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