A Running Wind

“When a rainstorm is blowing up
and driving all kind of terribles across the cornfield…
Running like the wind
among the cornrows
are the cornfairies.”

There is just such a field where Gulliver and I walk in the fall.
It borders the local high school and we are almost always the only ones there to see.
A dark Ichabod hollow separates if from the soccer field.
Last year we explored the exposed roots and rocky soil
in our attempts to get close to the corn.
Rising far above the horizon from that vantage
the corn stalks are the sky.

You know how the tiniest change in a dog’s world can make them come to a dead stop.
Front paws straight and sliding in the turf as their ears raise in total surprise.
One day when the leaves were racing ahead of us
we came up over the berm of that corn field and Gully slammed on her brakes.
The corn was stripped naked.
Rolling Pennsylvania hills of dry stubble.
We had come to the end of our searching.
Only to find a more beautiful incarnation of our quest.

For when the running wind blows all kind of terribles across a November cornfield,
the cornfairies have room to dance,
and the sky comes down to meet them.