Wild Mustard

The newly green field is suddenly topped by the brilliant yellow of wild mustard. There is a certain book  promising a green pasture in which to lie down.  In another book there is a certain poem describing a green field where we may all meet in peace.  Whether they be metaphor or actual I'm thinking they're sure to be crowned by this same joyous yellow.

Today the moon is in Scorpio.  One of the very best for planting or seeding and I will be sowing grass seed because of it.  I know these things having made a close study of the Farmer's Almanac.  I grew up in a community where the planted field fed the family.  Serious business that.  In most houses three books could be found without fail.  First, the Bible with its many promises.  Second, a Sears catalog for ordering what could not be grown or home made.  And third, a Farmer's Almanac for the study of stars.

Books of poetry were a bit more scarce but I found them all the same.  And I've found the study of poetry to be remarkably similar to the study of stars and that other book, that first book, as well.  All praise.  All bring  comfort and celebration.  They warn.  They rage.  All hold the promise of a guide through dark nights to a green field.

And like the second book, the catalog, they hold tight to our wish for a better day.  And a pretty dress to wear when we get there.