While We Wait

While we Wait. Late October it has been raining now it has stopped the landscape is green the air mild and gentle but there is no jubilation. No flowers grow. The seed in the earth slumber. The mules in the field look pensive and sad they are of no use anymore, farmer keep them because they make the landscape more rustic. Whoever loved a tractor even if painted blue? The harvest of this year is done sheep have been sheared and look exposed grazing under olive trees I can see it in the eyes of all living things: Melancholy for the future to come. Will we be here come next year?