If we come down to the world

and live in it long enough,

we might just find

that while indifferent,

it does permit us

our own shortcuts

for our own adjacent ends.

It is, of course, a fiction,

but it is also as close

as I am going to get

to reality.

 

I wrote this poem after my wife and I spread a pile of “lovely filth” (sheep manure and bedding) on the garden where the heavy feeders, corn and winter squashes, grew.  It is a circle of ‘filth”. We choose to abuse that word and its normal denotation because it is anything but how we think of it.  Sheep filth helps with cycles of life.  We feed pasture, hay, feed and water. They make lamb and manure and fertility in a moral spiral.  That cycle is why we live on a farm. That filth makes this a richer a place for all the bugs and worms and beetles and voles and moles and raptors and birds and…everything.  This picture below represents everything that is and everything that we believe.