The field is gone, buried beneath future
Rubble of convenience and commerce.
Stalks that once drew bird and game
Draw gamers and the budget minded.
It wearies a memory to replace
What is here with what once was.
Natural overcome, replaced with synthetic.
Creation’s groaning is nearly audible.
I have no right to chatter,
It was a borrowed field.
The farmer passed on his debts.
Someone must pay. So the land and memory do.
Bio: Mark Hutton lives with his family in the mountains of Tennessee (USA). He is a writer, poet, avid blogger (intheperpetualruins.com) and clergyman. His writing ranges from fiction to theology/spirituality, farms and food to justice and conservation. Most days he can be found writing and consuming too much coffee or out in the woods.