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.
Erda and Rabbit Lane lie in the low lands of the Tooele valley. Still, we are high enough to see the silvery ribbon of the Great Salt Lake lining the horizon. The northerly breeze often brings with it the smell of salt in the air as it brushes over the enormous lake, transporting me through the darkness to days of my youth spent beach combing and sailing near New Jersey’s Sandy Hook, looking across the bay to the iconic twin towers that exist now only in memory and in mourning, and in old photographs. Continue reading →