hot, sunny Sunday afternoon
the indolent countryside
stretches out in the heat
gives up her golden harvest
as 24/7 farmers swelter,
bale hay and stack it high
on trailers behind tractors,
at their busiest time of year
no time to be lethargic -
that is left to me, a mere observer.
I sit by a village pond
in the shade of a willow
listening to the distant hum
of harvesters and tractors
chorus with birdsong in the still air.
