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Philip Nast
Poet
Iíve lived in an old farmhouse on a hill outside Manlius for almost twenty years. Much of the land around me is woods or pasture. There are few houses. From the hilltop, I can see things I never saw when I lived in town: the sun break through storm clouds, an approaching squall, windrows after a hayfield is cut.

One day, I passed a field after dry hay had been rolled. The big round bales and the shorn field they lay in were gold in the late afternoon light. I took photos, but the photos included details I considered superfluous and distracting. I was disappointed. This haiku is the essence of what I saw.

yellow rounds of hay
cast shadows in stubbled field
sun slips behind hills

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