from A Book of Hours

   Beside a stream a man is reading.  He sits against a tree, one knee drawn up as support

for his book.  Next to him a long slender pole is propped; a line dangles into the water.

   The open pages of the book show an illustrated, gilded scene: a tiny figure by a stream, fields giving onto a town beyond.  In the fields, men and women bend over curved bundles of wheat.  Their scythes make dark punctuations of the harvest.

   The man smiles, as if pleased with what he sees.  Then he yawns and looks over at

the pole.  He shifts his gaze a bit and considers the prospect of the town in the distance:

the familiar spires and gables.  He surveys the fields, before returning to the book.

   A shadowiness comes over the surrounding landscape, as if a cloud were passing in front of the sun.  It is the man’s hand, about to turn the page.

Barry Yourgrau