This flock has flown

Every four feet,

another vine.

As I prepare to bend,

I clinch.

Pain strikes the knees,

as I drop roughly

straight down.

The vines are cut, stripped,

scraped and scarred

by pruning shears.

The pain is shared,

though, no human is in sight

to share it with.

The vines and me.


For hours…

Days even.

But from the woods…



flies by.



a small bird.

Curiosity envelopes,

and relief from my duties is granted

as I endulge in the mystery

which has brought new faces

into the vineyard so suddenly.

More appear from the shallow depths of the tree line…


I duck,

as one jets

barely over my head…

Their destination is North,

just like the geese last week.

Between short bursts of flight

they begin to settle into the vines

for a brief respite.


I begin to lift my hand.

Raising my ground-facing palm,

I point my finger

up and out like a twig.


I secure my finger with my thumb…

This is the place

for a bird to land.

A bird swoops by.

I begin to relax my shoulders,

becoming ever more welcoming.


There goes another.

I turn my focus to nothing in particular,

expecting to appear more like a tree…


I wait a while longer.


Finger outstretched,

focused on nothing,

perfectly still,

heart pounding,

I stare into space.


Patience more…

but silence

and the passing of time reveals

that the flock of birds has flown.

Their brief stay is gone.

Focusing my eyes back down

to the next vine,

I cringe.

Dropping to my knees

I continue hard labor,

but with renewed vigor,

as I dote appreciatively on

about such great migrations.


About ANewVine

Developing the art of making fine Maryland wine. View all posts by ANewVine

4 responses to “This flock has flown

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