so much yet,

all of it

in front,

the grass panned out

and the trees spread wide,

the hilled plains wait

to be betrothed

with the gem of

a tin-clad barn.

(some would wish

winter away)

then stills and stalls

nurture their kind,

all of it

speaks in growth

to us-

the field to till

then wheat to reap

seed to plant

speaks of birth.