Bedtime Story
There’s something about the sight of round bales of hay
dotting the stubbled beard of a late autumn field
that gives my heart ease.
The way they glow, golden in the slanting sunlight
against the rust and umber of the November hills
speaks to me of preparations for sleep,
the way that dried herbs hanging from rafters
and warm, bright quilts do.
They seem to say “Night is coming
and it will be cold, and dark, and long
but it’s alright.
The earth has been generous.
We will draw inward, curl our hearts around our summer memories
as the winds blow and the woods and fields sleep.
We are ready. We have enough
and we will make it through to the morning.”
dotting the stubbled beard of a late autumn field
that gives my heart ease.
The way they glow, golden in the slanting sunlight
against the rust and umber of the November hills
speaks to me of preparations for sleep,
the way that dried herbs hanging from rafters
and warm, bright quilts do.
They seem to say “Night is coming
and it will be cold, and dark, and long
but it’s alright.
The earth has been generous.
We will draw inward, curl our hearts around our summer memories
as the winds blow and the woods and fields sleep.
We are ready. We have enough
and we will make it through to the morning.”
Tracy Meisky is a poet, writer, singer, songwriter and all-around boat rocker from way back. Feel free to look around, but if you break it, you bought it.