Poem: Words from a Farm Stand

pickles

The following poem will appear  in Soundings: Door County in Poetry, an anthology featuring several poets. It is scheduled to be published this coming summer. 

Words from a Farm Stand      By Ann Heyse

“When the snows pile up,” he said, “and the sun hits those jagged edges just so, I’ve seen blues and pinks and aquamarines glisten in the cold.
and, (he continued)
in a certain stretch on that road near your land after a fresh snowfall, a thousand pearls dangle on tall, overhanging evergreens.”

I had not expected such eloquence from this reticent gardener.

So, thank-you, sir, not only for my perfect cucumbers, which I’ll make into pickles that will remind me of this place all winter,

But also for the hope that, should I live here, too,

I will never stop marveling at the translucent shimmer of a dragonfly as it skims the shining surface of the blue lake,
or tire of the calls of swooping gulls at dusk, especially as their wings catch the fading light,
or doubt that, maybe, one more time, I will watch the northern lights glory their way across a sky of falling stars.

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