A Farmer Considers Geologic Time
by Tim Myers
This farm was once a sea.
These fields I work, these limestone hills and swales,
were once no more, beneath the swells,
than remotest possibilities.
Where ancient sharks went hunting, now
my neighbor comes to me.
“Look,” he says half-curiously.
“I found this in my corn rows”—
holds out a bivalve shape encased in rock
that clung its brief life out on the sandy bottom
of some shallow prehistoric amnion,
dead for a million years. But there’s no clock
to count it, not for him. “Ain’t that somethin’?”
he says, and looks around,
assured by the solidity of ground.
“Sure glad it ended up this way!” He grins
and turns away from me,
buttoning up his jacket, off to chores,
content with one glance back, then closing doors.
I think about eventuality.
Not much to say.
This farm will be a sea.
Tim Myers is a writer, storyteller, and songwriter who lives with his family in Santa Clara, California, where he also teaches at Santa Clara University.
Art Director: Bonnie Brunish