November 7, 1964
Saturday sunny day warmer. Clifton dug for spring in field below spring lot. I baked in pm. Girls did homework.
Comment: Still looking for consistent water supply....here are my memories of The Spring Lot......
Wednesday, November 07, 2012
The “Spring Lot” was three acres out southeast across the road
Beyond the “crik” with minnows, frogs, the barnyard with its toads
Some years we’d plant Sudan Grass, tall, billows, green, in waves
In other years, we planted corn. Between the rows, dark caves
Lairs, from which we’d “hide n’ seek” and hunt for dangerous game
The rustling winds and dank dark earth held fears we couldn’t name
The lot was close and in full view of folks from our front porch
And through the trembling grass or corn, light flickered, as a torch
One day I lay beside the spring in warm and tender sun
And overturned a rock to watch the insects’ frantic run
I pondered their perceptions in a world I couldn’t see
And wondered if their eyes and minds could see that it was “ME”
The “ME” who made the calls about their right to live or die
I thought that this was how we were when looked at through God’s eyes
And then I saw wild strawberries, a sweet and acrid taste
And left that rock turned over, and the insects to their fate
I often think, if there be gods, they must be like a child
Playing in a “Spring Lot” while we skitter, scared and wild
They’ll never know the why, the what, the wonder of our days
‘cause all they see are strawberries and blithely move away
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