Spring Sagebrush Steppe—ensemble (Sulphur Lupine & Desert Paintbrush) . . .
On the road in the American Northwest.
[ click photo for next . . . ]
A farmer’s life is measured
by the pitchforks full,
of hay, of manure,
of the mountain
which is each day
Mattli Peter gewidmet
Vater und Sohn
Working in the barn all day,
moving manure from here
Evening, and the low door opens
all by itself. Walking out the door,
I bump my head against the stars.
Life inside the stomach of a cow!
Low ceiling, pigshit smells,
moving manure from here to
Late summer hay is mid-winter joy.
The goat’s eyes are filled with delicate
bells pouring over into the sweetness
of milk. A last drop and the bucket is full,
the gentle waves of a warm evening wind.
The gift of labor.
Working together on a neighbor’s
farm, moving manure from here
An old wheelbarrow,
the wooden handle’s worn thin
as a bone—on one side only—the
They say his older brother
(URNERLAND, The Alps,
from ON PATHS)| preview ON PATHS (open in new window |
All Photographs & texts by Cliff Crego © 2011 picture-poems.com