The Field

I hear it in the field
and taste it in the sun,
the silence hanging golden -
the activity all done.

Long fingers of the day
comb through the rows of wheat.
Shadows filled with sound
and emptiness complete.

The furrows have been hollowed -
yet stand ready for the seed.
The soil of the ending.
The new beginning that I need.

I hear the crickets chirping,
I see the weft and weave Peace.
In earth and sun, and all work done.
Reflection, and release.