By Patricia Anne McGoldrick

They lay there

for months

untouched

except for the random roaming of a red fox in search of food

 

Those fields are hard and brittle

Frozen with cold

Not summer soft to the footstep

No earthy smells of green alfalfa and clover

No tall stalks of cob-laden corn

 

Farm fields are not so inviting

Sitting still and fallow

Waiting to be reborn.