October brought the corn to its peak. Now the trick
is to get it in between rains if the field is dry enough
for the harvester and the enormous truck that hauls
it to giant bins for drying and storage. That’s for starters.
From there it goes on long journeys in many directions,
nurturing many along the way, and at the end returning
to the earth, as, I suppose, do all living things.
As of today, I see that a giant swath of the crop
has been cut and hauled. Much more remains. Soon.
The farmer studies weather screens with a furrowed brow.
“Friday,” he murmurs. “Maybe late tomorrow.”
I stop to photograph the field’s texture and curve,
the distant row of standing corn looking brave
beneath an ominous sky that threatens snow.
But Friday, maybe tomorrow afternoon, sunshine
will waltz across these hills and the mighty machines
will join in the song, and a week from now, the corn
will be gone.