I’M REVIVED EACH TIME YOU CALL MY NAME

The fields roll around the hills, exposing themselves, golden remnants of grain lying puckered in plowed rows. The willow trees stand rustling in single file along ridges and country roads, like brooms thrust shaft down, their leaf-stripped switches reaching to the gray sky. Manic flocks of seagulls swirl, descend, rise flapping in loud arguments behind a tractor. They know an easy lunch when they see one: 2-for-1 takeout special at the worm café. There’s a swirl of pale light between two clouds; I know you’re up there, sun! A line of migrating geese just stitched its way across my window....