Standing as still as the harnesses and bridles hung in Atley’s barn,
I heard the breathing of two retired trotters.
Yesterday they ambled, slant-wise, pulling a buggy
filled with an Amish family.
Today they breathe
quietly resting in the shadows of the barn.
Atley stood at the entrance, murmured a few syllables
two Belgians appeared and stood still opposite their harnesses and bridles.
Atley moved the straps and buckles into place,
a settled man of some age and syllables,
his Belgians followed him to the plow,
attached and hearing a syllable, they began to move across the field.
The farm lives by the rhythm of the horse and nature’s cycle
of plantings and harvestings.
Stillness, attentiveness, remembering what the fathers learned from their fathers.
is what leads to the beauty of the farm.
Is my life unfolding with stillness?