88 days to go

Andrew wanted to help with the gardening chore of cutting what we call the "outfields" - something for which I just managed to find time and a sunny interlude this morning (politicians have chores to do too, you know !)

Everytime I get the little tractor out of the shed - and it is now getting old - I think of that RS Thomas poem about mechanisation and its effect not just on agriculture but on people.

Andrew is a bit young for it of course, but in time I am sure he will appreciate it too.

Cynddylan on a Tractor

Ah, you should see Cynddylan on a tractor.
Gone the old look that yoked him to the soil,
He's a new man now, part of the machine,
His nerves of metal and his blood oil.
The clutch curses, but the gears obey
His least bidding, and lo, he's away
Out of the farmyard, scattering hens.
Riding to work now as a great man should,
He is the knight at arms breaking the fields'
Mirror of silence, emptying the wood
Of foxes and squirrels and bright jays.
The sun comes over the tall trees
Kindling all the hedges, but not for him
Who runs his engine on a different fuel.
And all the birds are singing, bills wide in vain,
As Cynddylan passes proudly up the lane.