Blackdirt Bottomlands

Peaceful ride down wooded lane.
Where fences old with weather stain.
Where mushrooms round in fairy ring,
Along roadside growth of waning spring.

Where sunlight shines in dappled ray
Upon webs woven between all that sway.
And leaves of green return again
The swoop and chirp of flitting wren.

Through summer's swelt and drying air.
These crops grow with fruit to share.
Now autumn's fade and harvests bound.
And what remains gets turned in ground.

Came across a relic in a field.
One with age had broken and peeled.
It's sturdy boughs barred entry down.
The depths remain unknown for now.

A tree bears a cross in western shade,
As dust rolls a plain of level grade.
Sage blue flowers on cracked dry earth
Coloring the gray for what it's worth.

Standing corn rows solid and straight.
Ready for harvest, no more to wait.
Farm house sits under oaken trees,
With truck and trailer and cows and bees.

With freestalls, pens, and feeding lanes,
The heifers grow with steady gains.
And dairy barn moans echo the call,
To milk and honey and butter for all.

Forested oaks upon the slough
In wild bend and tangled grew.
Once backwatered from the lake and mist.
Now downhill run in swirl and twist.

Further along the road forgotten,
Coyotes disappear in tufted cotton.
Where water wells up from the ground,
Running through the alfalfa without a sound.