Middlefield, Ohio 1:45 P.M.

Middlefield, Ohio...1:45 P.M.



I stopped my car upon

an old dirt road

that they called Jug,

and killed the engine

with a twisted wrist,

then rolled down

my window and just

listened to the utter silence

of an Amish community

on a hot and humid

spring day.


Through the haze

beneath a huge

shady maple I spied.....


The ancient gnarled

hands of

the Amish man,

tightly on his

mid-spring task,

his sweat soaked,

white muslin back,

bent over his plow,

ripping anything but

swift furrows for

the birth of corn

mumbling in his

old country speech

at the rocks plaguing him,

the not so flying

dutchman crept

over endless ancient fields.

I am sure he pined for

a lemonade in

the cool shade

of his dogwood trees,

as he dogged

the wood of

his plow handle,

ripping huge bites

from the earth

that would soon

sustain him.





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