Sevenling: more meadows

You can see what the meadows looked like end of June here.

July Bales


Haymaking rolls up the spring

shaves sheaves of meadow flowers

leaves hot bare scars of red earth.


Bales sit in monolithic majesty

rolled tight and golden

and the meadow recarpets in floral colour


the power of root and shoot rises—summer tide.

July bales2








once a sea of green and dappled shade,

specked with flowers colours of the sky,

that waved beneath butterfly-flutter, grasses

hung with finches chirruping in falcon-shadow,

is rolled, pressed tight and still as stone.

On bristled stalk,

bales stand baking in the sun,

or bathed in moonlight,

monuments to a vanished spring.

When they roll away, sweet-smelling summer,

green will flow to wash away the scars,

life thrust again, the eternal tide,

patient as the stars.