-This poem reflects on a harvested late summer field finding peace after abundance, where stillness is not emptiness but a quiet fullness after the season’s work is done.
After the cutting, after the rain,
the field lies open to the sky,
its grasses low, its edges still,
the afternoon spread wide above it.
No tractor moves along the rows,
no swallows turn above the fence,
only the wind crosses the stubble,
and leaves no mark of where it passed.
The earth seems emptied, but not bare,
its silence holds the season close,
the roots remain beneath the ground,
the seeds lie scattered out of sight.
There is a fullness after fullness,
a peace that comes when work is done,
when nothing more is asked of light,
and the land is simply allowed to be.