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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 9, Number 2, June 2015

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Robert E. Smith
Worcester Park, Surrey, England


The demise of maize

The beginning of September and the beginning of the end for those impenetrable vegetated squares that surround the town and overlook it from the hill. The slim Giacometti like stands of maize with their grenade like knobbed yellow fruit, green wrapped like presents. Those squares of maize contained by wire—sullen prisoners threatening beside the lanes. Squares that are a refuge for hares and migrant birds.

The ranks are animated for the first and last time. Fine weather for the days and nights—the distant headlights revealing—of shredding and grinding and the yellow and green torrents into the Lorries. Smoke and dust and a frenzy of released insects pursued by swallows. The squares plundered in two hours leaving a scattering of stumps, leaves and grain.

November with the Red Kites deep winged searches across the crop less land where for two months the contours have been reclaimed. November when the felled remnants of the squares are turned over by roving chaffinch and brambling flocks.

rising
a solitary woodlark
its melancholy song

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