The wheel of earth

Nine Songs from THE GOLDEN BOOK OF FAVORITE SONGS . Published by Schmitt, Hall & McCreary Co., Minneapolis, Minn. To A. D. G. contents 1 117 197 287 363 THE WHEEL OF EARTH We lay beneath the alder tree Her breast she leaned upon my hand The alder leaf moved over me The sun moved over on the land Her mouth she pressed upon my mouth I felt the leaf beat in her breast I felt the sun move in her hair But nearer than the leaf the sun I felt the love go deep in me That has no season in the earth That has no time of spring or birth That cannot flower like a tree Or like one die but only be 1 Ellen Gaddy was gathering tart stunted June apples into a peck basket. Drifts of cloud were passive in the blue dome above, where hawks were wheeling. The late afternoon sun was warm on her tanned neck. The dog came up barking, stood close to her, tongue slavering, eager. She patted him and he went to curl under a tree. “There, Jack.” He was half shepherd, sensible in the ways of the farm. Ellen was his choice among the humans so he was restless apart. His limpid eyes were fixed on her as she hunted in the tall grass. Her hands were small and coarse, and in wiping sweat from her face she had left careless dark streaks. She was sixteen, the cups of her breasts hung firm, her belly was small. She wore her yellow hair in braids. Her mouth was facile, somewhat obstinate, and her forehead was high, its creamy texture darkened by the season’s sun. A tiger swallowtail like a falling yellow leaf was drifting by. She sighed to it, “Bear me good news.” The old brook that fed the farm’s pond was near the orchard. Pebbles lying in the uneasy clear water were glossed, tangled twigs and leaves were forced downstream in complaining whirlpools, marsh grasses along the bank strove for footing in the cruel plashing current. Ellen was shaking tree branches, the fruit rattling about her. Today Penny was due to drop her kid. She had looked it up in the almanac. Gestation Table, She-Goat, 151 days. The kid will follow me, making small noises, wanting to play. A question of smoke was rising from the yellow farmhouse over the…