Epiphany in a Winter Field

In purple shadows,
a lone fence post
keeps sentinel

over a field
deserted by all
but  a few field mice

and some twisted wire–
remnant of a boundary
long since breached

by the elements
and the ensuing

Once, foolish man
had claimed it
as his own.

This is God’s land;
we are footprints
then  dust.

4 thoughts on “Epiphany in a Winter Field

  1. BoardFlak

    Someone somewhere probably still claims ownership of that land, but rust doesn’t heed a deed. Human “ownership” of land matters for only one reason; what humans feel entitled to do with it or to it as a result.

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