The Case of E.V. Riordan: Of Poetry and Hay Bales

To see the Summer Sky
Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie -
True Poems flee.

~Emily Dickinson

Why is it that beautiful weather makes me such a romantic? One whiff of that summer grass, one waft from that summer wind, and I'm gone thinking about poetry. Not the kind of poetry that rhymes in "iambic pentameter"; not the kind you learn in English class when you swear that reading Kafka or Nietzsche while repeatedly being stabbed in the eyeball would be better than having to dissect the world's most confusing form of literature. I think of the poetry of experiences. How you feel when all your thoughts vanish in a single moment, and it feels like your mind's only purpose is to lay quietly and release your senses to your surroundings. You feel as if you can no longer be burdened with the weight of your humanity--as if life is more than a series of decisions. Life is more than you. More than me. More than anyone.

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......See?! I told you I get all romantic! Something about this countrified, summertime weather... Makes me all crazy.

Anyway, the farm had hay bales again! Gosh, I love hay bales! However, after climbing on quite a few, my knees would disagree... Sooo, I got a few scratches trying to wiggle my way onto hay bales, but what's a farmgirl to do when she knows it may be her last day to play on the hay bales before next year?! Beth and I took the opportunity to make a photo-shoot out of our playtime, as well! It was awesome. The weather was cloudy and windy with a few raindrops every so often: the perfect tem