Drifting in a world
A world between
From my world to your heart,
The quiet beauty of a farm is not the glamor and glitz of a town, city, metropolis
Still, there is a bright glitter in the green growth of weeds and the
Quick flutters of wings and feathers.
To be able to actually see the enchantment
A human must be like a creeping shadow
Instead of blending into the raucous noise of a cities roar
Care must be taken to experience the unusual, instead of flinging oneself into the
Shimmering excitement of towns
The gold is lifted to our eyes on gentle breezes
As the shadows fall sharp upon the furrowed land.
Your friend on a western Colorado farm,
I believe, that the gods (or God) talk to us
in our dreams
We also receive inspiration in the form of many things
Knowledge handed to us in the form of all those marvelous things in nature
The voice of understanding speaking loud into our mind of understanding
Many times the voice is bright with laughter
The weather brings its own blessings, wet, dry, soaked, covered in snow
Or even (a lessening of mud–the ground starting to dry)
All we need do is listen to our dreams and watch for the signs to unfold.
I have come to place in life where I feel we all shape the future together
Carefully and consistently
So those who understand and can explain the unexplainable will help us see the miracles (or magic, if you prefer) unfolding.
From my heart to your world,
Bringing forth words to convey feelings, or to describe a scene is sometimes …
A bit hard.
Searching my mind for those exact words which project what I’m seeing, feeling, or hearing
Causes me to pause for I wish to show to you the earth, the sky, and capture the feeling in words that is see, hear, and feel
Looking for that perfect word reminds me how limited my vocabulary really is–
To help you see (beyond the photographs) the wind rippling through the corn stalks, or
Or clouds obscuring the sun in the possible threat of rain
Or the golden leaves being pushed off the tree’s branches as the sap slowly descends to the roots
Readying for the long winter’s night. I always think of this time of falling leaves as trees making haste slowly, every so slowly preparing for rest and a pause in breathing
The canal water is now gone. Turned off to winter in the Blue Mesa Dam or clear up at Taylor Reservoir. The silence of the tumbling churning water is as stunning as breaking glass…
For us our work is slowing, but not stopping. The harvests are all in, paychecks will arrive sometime in December.
A whole season of farming from daylight to sunset and sometimes in the deep of night.
The perfect life for Terry and I—
From your friend on a western Colorado farm,