blue skies poetry

Uncle leads
past antiquated
threshers.
I trail behind, step-in-step,
wind baths my face
sparrows whistling,
to the farthest, littlest evergreen
shelter-belt pivot.
Pulls grass,
gives attention,
says nothing.
Our offer complete, we turn
back from the vulnerable
edge of the farm,
where it drops off
into the vast prairie sky

~ Gayle Sacuta

Gayle Sacuta lives in Devon, Alberta. She spends her time exploring creativity by caring for her family (nurturing three boys, baking artisan bread), making fiber art (weaving, spinning and felting), playing and writing music (fiddle and guitar) and promoting literacy (kids song and story workshops, adult literacy programs).

Filed under: Gayle Sacuta, Writing the Land by akublik Date 17 September, 2007