Lynda Gene Rymond

On Silo Hill

The Detwiler’s corn stands late in the winter, acres on either side of this single lane road that on a night like this goes nowhere to nowhere. In front of me strides a big white shepherd dog, so large she wears a halter instead of a collar. She looks down the dark rows and her wolfen teeth smile. She hears the paired owls hunting before I do, but then, she hears everything before I do and waits with a predator’s patience for me to catch on. It is too cold to snow and the wind rattles the corn leaves column by column, making shaman dancers who fast and thirst for visions, sanctifying seed for the harvester. Woodsmoke’s a thready melody in this thin air, a querulous fiddle far off. We pass the cow barn, empty now but resonant with the vestigia of souled beasts. The white dog wants to prowl those old halls but I ought not let her free here. The wind kicks up another octave and the big sycamores claw at the planks and gutters of this derelict ark. A clothesline rows back and forth, forgotten wood pins clinging tight. We walk down to the old EGGS sign and turn home. Across the fallow east field, the old farmers turn out their last lamp. The monochrome nocturn encircles us. The dog quickens her pace, but not me, not in this moment where nothing is ordinary.

Lynda Gene Rymond is a poet, author, and artist who lives on Goblin Farm in Applebachsville, Pa. She has been a runner-up and finalist for Bucks County Poet Laureate. Her poetry has been published in journals and the anthology “Carry Us to the Next Well” (Kelsay Books.) Her short story “Turn, Turn” won the 2020 Pennwriters competition.