Soundings
by Joyce Sutphen

In the afternoon of summer, sounds
come through the window: a tractor
muttering to itself as it

pivots at the corner of the
hay field, stalled for a moment
as the green row feeds into the baler.

The wind slips a whisper behind
an ear; the noise of the highway
is like the dark green stem of a rose.

From the kitchen the blunt banging
of cupboard doors and wooden chairs
makes a lonely echo in the floor.

Somewhere, between the breeze
and the faraway sound of a train,
comes a line of birdsong, lightly
threading the heavy cloth of dream.

Today's poem came straight from The Writer's Almanac where I also learned that today is the birthday of many a smartypants: Leonardo da Vinci (for all you Code fans), Leonhard Euler (super math mind), and Henry James (great lit). Oh and the birthday of my illustrous former housemate and dear friend Jimbo Mathis. Finally, I heard something about some type of tax deadline.... (taxes and deadlines, two words that definitely belong together).

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