riding the trailer behind the haybaler behind the tractor

[mindbum]

riding the trailer behind the haybaler behind the tractor


a farm train, with the tractor for an engine,
the maker of motion.

the haybaler,
a remarkable machine
to make rectangles of compressed grass.

the wagon
purchased from sears as a steel frame,
assembled by able hands from local lumber.
bales are stacked in a particular pattern
taking into account numbers, space and structure.

a haphazard or loosely stacked haywagon could disastrously
fall off in transit
an avalanche of bales that break on impact
to unleash unruly, freedom-seeking blades of grass.

a tightly stacked load of hay can withstand any hill
& deflect lowhanging braches.
it represents the true organization of tall grasses.

before i could carry a bale
it felt as if time couldnt continue,
things couldnt happen,
couldnt keep happening,
without particular sounds emitting
from deep within the machinery.

many things lie within
coaxed into the screeching maw of the machine
in motion.

rows of naked hay demarc a field
and tip their hat to progress
in the name of new rectangles
bound in twine.

the rhythm of chomping & clicks & compacting & guidance
into a chute
where the twine that binds
is tied.

unimaginably fast
actions that repeat
each beat.

each click & turn & chomp
part of the series of events
that compose a bale of hay
opr represent the passage of time.
every click necessary.
every sound a progression.

as with a lot of machinery,
you can tell if it's working
by the sound

or its lack.

factory machines or farm machines
or any sound
that compresses
forward time & past memory
into one

click

[mnaz]

you're right. the sound of a machine can tell you plenty.... and the hum of this computer plays unfair tricks with time....

good one.... summer job, perhaps?