Category Archives: Farming

Extenuating Circumstances

Posted on May 8, 2012 by Doc Arnett

Imagine a twenty-ton dandelion, sixty-to-seventy feet tall and with branches extending thirty feet in every direction. That’s what the cottonwood tree is like during its month-long spawn.
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A Preparation of Peace

Posted on May 2, 2012 by Doc Arnett

I step out the back door into the pleasant air of morning. A dark blue edge shows in the sky, high and to the east, tracing the form of the passing storm front. The horses look up from the low edge of the paddock. They swing around and head toward me, heads bobbing in fast walk. Continue reading →

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A Whisper of Faith

Posted on April 3, 2012 by Doc Arnett

ool air eases in through the window,
something less than a breeze,
just a soft flowing of the night. Continue reading →

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A Strong Wind

Posted on March 1, 2012 by Doc Arnett

Here in the Missouri-Iowa-Nebraska corner of Kansas, it is a rare day that the wind does not blow. Continue reading →

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After the Storm

Posted on February 29, 2012 by Doc Arnett

but I think
that when we have survived the storm
we ought to be cautious
in noting our inconveniences. Continue reading →

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February Dawn

Posted on February 17, 2012 by Doc Arnett

The last crescent of a winter moon gives its glow to the snowy frost along the hill sloping toward the shed. Between the moon and the ridge, elm trees along the fence line stretch the black of their brushy ends against the orange rim of the eastern sky. Continue reading →

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The Freezing Fog

Posted on February 6, 2012 by Doc Arnett

we must strive in the shadows of clouds
and never allow our seeing to vanquish vision.
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Witness of Weakness

Posted on January 24, 2012 by Doc Arnett

Passing through our middle years, we are still occasionally surprised not to see that younger memory of ourselves when we look in the mirror. Continue reading →

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The Ancient of Days

Posted on January 20, 2012 by Doc Arnett

Beyond the bluffs and the bare-branched ridge,

in the thin cut between the over-hanging shroud

and the blackness of frozen ground,

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The Way of Things

Posted on January 17, 2012 by Doc Arnett

Last night’s mesmerizing sunset brought a splashing of reds and pinks onto the bellies of scattering clouds stretched out in fan pattern from the west. Beneath that beauty, though, the cold rolled edge of a slate blue front laid a distinct boundary of something else. Continue reading →

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