Where I will be for only a short time more.

Soon I will leave these fields for my own fields, going back to my own barns, my own furrows and floods, my landscape, my hills and woods. This afternoon birds dropped from a wire like leaves, to dip and turn in a diving cloud, as I searched for broken-backed barns. Rivers wound out from under the fields and rippled the skies back to themselves. And the word comes from home that the rain there continues.