Hard Way to Learn

A trickle of water from
a rotting snowbank tells me
the time has come to haul
one more load of manure to
the field before the frost
goes out and lets the muddy
ground suck the tractor wheels
down to the axle. The earth
will let me know when it
is ready to take the plow, as a
heifer in heat lets the bull
know when she is ready. Think of it,
forty years I farmed this place
and I still wait on it for
the time to plant. My wisdom
seems a little shaky compared
to what the land knows and makes
me suspicious of what I think
I’ve learned. I read signs and
add seed, ground, work, weather,
and luck and hope for the best.
Strange, at my age, to be so
unsettled in my mind about crops,
weather and women but no one gave me
a diploma when I was born.