The Man in the Field

                      Inspired by “Haystacks in Province,” by Vincent Van Gogh

Every day he was there

On his knees, standing, or kneeling

Gazing into the sun and the colors

He watched the road, the hay

The horizon and sometimes even me

His eyes followed my bucket

I felt, not uncomfortable, but

As if a passive madness were there

In that field

Watching, always watching

Once I stopped to say Hello

He ignored me

Standing erect, absorbing the sun

 Gazing at the golden hay

He was never in the same place

Sometimes, he was near the road

So close, I thought I could hear his breath

I read his very thoughts as I passed

Thoughts, I would never repeat

The sound of the water sloshing in my pail

And

His mind in rhythm

Yesterday, he was lying in the middle of the field

Staring upward into the sun

Motionless and still
Complete

Today he was gone

His absence left the field seemingly empty

Yet… the haystacks and the scattered straw

The sky, the sun itself

Brighter…Brighter…Alive

                                                © Copyrights G. Jones 2006