Peace is Green like Alfalfa

Peace is Green like Alfalfa

The sun beat down

      BRIGHT

            BURNING

                BOILING

                     BRUTAL


Sweat trickled, no relief, no chill but...

My sandaled feet pounded the road

        DUSTY

            DIRTY

                DESOLATE

Furtive glances for grouchy farmers and then dive into a row of soft, tender plants.

I spread my arms slowly, soaking in

          COOL

               CALM

Heart slowing, sweat evaporating, silence pervasive


             PEACE


Peace is green like alfalfa



It seemed that a poem was the only way I could describe where I would go when I was a young child living in the heat of Mexico. 

We didn't have air conditioning.

The heat of summer had a physicality to it that makes it hard to express if you have never had that experience.  The idea of siestas was not a mystery to me even then.  It was necessary for well-being.  The sun was a harsh master.

A farmer near our house had a field of alfalfa and when there was no other cool place in my little world, I would run there.

I would lay in the middle of that field soaking in the cool of the plants feeling like the smartest and richest child in the world. 

It was so quiet and smelled so good. 

I would close my eyes and luxuriate in that field until I was afraid my mother would worry.

Even now, in my mind, Peace is Green like Alfalfa.