Wednesday, April 2, 2014

91. I Love ... the smell of fresh cut hay.

It takes me back.
to my childhood.

It takes me back
to the farm,
to the horses,
to my Dad.

It takes me back
to our kitchen;
figuring out after lunch
whether it would be dry enough 
to bale.

Standing on the hay wagon,
trying to keep my balance,
grabbing and dragging
heavy, prickly bales.
Pretending at twelve years old,
that I was strong to lift them.
I was.
Only for the first three rows.

And then I'd drive the tractor,
having to stand up
with all my weight,
to get the clutch in.

Riding the bumpy, squeaking wagon - 
bouncing on the hard wood on the way there,
riding high on the load on the way back.

When I drive by a field now
and smell fresh cut hay,
it all comes back -
a whiff of the past.

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