The Farmer

By Willem Santry — Roxbury Latin

A cold spring lingers,

earth and air are slow to warm.

Still dark, still dormant.

The farmer moves between the barren rows,

Planting peas. One inch down, two across.

Stubborn clods of dirt,

Unlikely incubators,

sharp beneath his hands and knees.

Then in the distance,

A momentous and routine ritual begins.

Warm and golden,

the sun breaks its earthen boundary,

splits the world

and rushes over the land.

The hills quake

and rays of sunlight fill every crack with tempered heat.

Unseen molecular collisions

transport life, down deep,

past the surface.

Where swollen rudimentary roots will soon push out,

And fragile cotyledons begin their journey from darkness

into the light.