I could hear them as I approached the north end of Rabbit Lane. Ka-swishhh ka-swishhh ka-swishhh ka-swishhh–swika swika swika swika swika. With the blue sky above, the fields and pastures all around, and the butterflies and bees winging in warm air, the sound of the ground-line sprinklers was true music. A summer song.
Ground-line sprinklers in the green alfalfa hay
make such pretty music,
like the field song of crickets and katydids
on a hot, summer evening.
Cows’ tails swishing in the tall, dry grass,
and the breeze fluttering stiff poplar leaves,
add apropos percussion
to the sublimity and song.