Solstice

Whippoorwills tonight,
And other birds calling to one
Another, calling
in this long, settling sunset.

Today I thought about
Haying,
In the old days
Scythe and stack,
The ancient rhythm lost to
The now of bailer, rack,
And tractor.

But still quite a thing
Of beauty,
Bringing in the hay.
Last night at Sarah and Robert's
They worked after the solstice
Light had gone

The lingering fields
Awaiting rows and
This day's rhythm carrying their
Work, until they could say
All done.

My own effort just this
Afternoon,
In sudden heat,
To water (mindful of our well),
The vegetables
And the potted things
on porches.

The dry land gardens
Flourishing in
The stone barn beds out back
Know so much more than
I do; persistence, they might

Tell me, is where there is the
Yield.