Devil’s Detail

God doesn’t want this crop. But the devil does.

We have the wettest spring on record. Since I’ve been farming the last thirty five years. I’m pretty sure that’s official. Around here it’s being compared to the only spring I was over in the Med, 1980. Chipping paint and swinging booms. And not paying attention to the weather past how to dress that day.

I was able to slip another 100 acres of seed beans into the ground on Sunday. The second Sunday in a row I’ve had to do that. I remember back when the Priest had to give the congregation permission to work on Sundays. Back in the ’60s I remember an older brother talking about that being why we had to do more than just chores on a particular Sunday. Out back fixing fence.

That’s why I say the devil must want this crop. Here in God’s country we’re putting in full days on the Lord’s Day. But think about it, they all belong to Him. If we count the raining days as days off we got the one in seven thing covered. Personally I’m counting the doctor ordered healing days as my sabbatical.

So I can grow the devil his crop.

Then, there



Set Table

Take the Rose with it’s beauty sans other
Along comes the sting of it’s thorn
The hand holding become the blood brother
Unholy alliance be born

Take the waif with the whiff of the fragrance
Along paths the fine petals are strewn
Each a kiss that become the bum vagrants
Unholy the music’s in tune

Take the warnings arrayed by the doctors
Along with the poisons within
Physicians that become death’s new proctors
Unholy compotions begin

Take your pay for the price of prescriptions
A long day of toil and sweat
Each dark task that become the constrictions
Unholy they wager the bet

Take the time Find the God of your fathers
Along with The Word of His deed
Take His hand and become His blood brother
Unholy The wise never will heed