Grace and Peace to you.
I wonder, walking in these woods,
along stone walls so purposefully laid,
what it was like to clear the land,
by hand and oxen, long ago,
and pry the stones out, lift
the smaller ones, and heft them up,
the bigger ones with tools and
chains and wheels, with all
their solid weight pushing down against
you, against your hands, your will,
stone after stone,
to clear it out.
How right and good it must have seemed
to see the walls set out,
the fields enclosed.
How hard and fine, and no less work
to lift away my bitterness, my fear,
and clear an open, gentle space.
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