I went to the field of sunflowers to live deliberately.
At least that’s what I’d tell Thoreau.
But really, I went to capture the bent and spindly yellow necks arching in unison towards the sun rising up and over the field, over the chaos of rapidly agin’ old roads and new ones no one can seem to find, and though I want to lend a hand to all the changin’ I can’t bear the red veins of pain running through it all.
Never mind the rhubarb or tomatoes.
Never mind the kale or bib lettuce.
Never mind the pole beans or rows of corn.
They can do their own sweet thing, ’cause see in the old days they used to tell writers to come and prophesize with pens, to keep our eyes wide, for the chance won’t come again to see what’s being planted. But I don’t got eyes for much right now. Maybe that’s not the right way but it’s the only way I know to survive the growing waters drenching my bones.
All I know for sure is what the sunflowers know,
to follow the sun.
To soak up warm Truth shining down
Follow the sun.
“Don’t get sidetracked…” Proverbs 4:27 (NLT)
The order is rapidly fadin’
And the first one now will later be last
For the times they are a-changin’