Eve of the cut

Purple light and the bruised sky,
dusk falls with the rustle of silken rain
on the golden-stalked meadow,
the last silent cry before the cut.

Dusk falls with the rustle of silken rain
from the purple-bruised clouds.
Night creeps from hedge-shadows

on the golden stalked meadow,
tomorrow to be shorn, scattering raindrops
and the purple flush of the storm-sky,

the last silent cry before the cut
of scythe, the refuge fallen in swathes
of insect flight and voracious swallows.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

15 thoughts on “Eve of the cut”

    1. They came to cut the hay yesterday afternoon between showers as there’s no end in sight to the storms. Swallows were immediately skimming at ground level between the tractors, while the kites and hawks daren’t get too close. They’re fearless.

    1. It’s the stormlight, and the pinking you get in the evening. Plus the seed heads of the grass are very dry and golden. They came to mow yesterday between showers. The forecast is more storms next week so they’re hoping it’ll dry out a bit and they can bale it up before. I think they’ll be lucky.
      It’s late, so there’s not likely to be birds or hares nesting in the grass. We get a lot of raptors coming round, looking for activity or corpses, and flocks of swallows after the insects.

      1. We’ve had thunderstorms every afternoon for awhile. Tomorrow we get rain all day, the remnants of a tropical storm…

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