NIGHT MOWING I remember the hum of Francis Temple’s Farmall mowing in the dark of a mid September night, its deep, desultory blasts that were also guttural- half motor, half cat-as it labored in the meadow, right to left, felling hay in six foot rows with a sickle bar that rattled like a snake. I woke with a start thirty years ago to the lullaby of that motor in the dark. That much newer now for being maintained, it takes me back with its piston sounds like a rhyme. I see it still on the screen of night as it strains through the rows of waist high grass that is the time that does not pass as long as it grows, that falls like hair in the tractor’s lights this far from hell. Chard deNiord Chard deNiord, VT, entered 2002-07-30 My Email Address: Not Displayed |