Brother Zachariah wakes up in a cold sweat –
the roosters are like sirens, reminding all of the men to get started by rudely breaking the dawn’s silence,
they tighten their robes and grab their farming tools, and toil
along as another early morning’s aches are assuaged by the birds in the trees’ sweet songs.
Life moves around him, but he’s locked in, focused on his tasks, in a circle so tight
that he makes four left turns to make sure he knows which way is still right;
A sight seen on repeat, he works on the land, plowing the same fields
day in, day out, as patient as he can appear while his mind dreads his daily deeds.
Bro-Zac’s workload doubled when the friars added it on, they noticed that his usual load was no longer fitting.
The other men notice that he’s a little less witty, seems a little less willing,
but still prays the loudest, most intensely, knowing he’s not back in the village making a killing,
but trying to do the right thing; doing what he understands as ‘the Lord’s bidding.’
The cold sweat compounds with the heat by midday, and he has to finish counting
all the seeds he’s planted, keeps notes on the crops growing;
the friars tell him to “Add ‘er all up!” when it comes to his work, and until the moon’s glowing
he’s taking his time to harness his troubled mind, making sure he has the right numbers of his seeds planted all in line,
while reminding himself to rest when he has the time.
Under the full moon’s dusk the crops grow – surely, slowly, tall, nourished, and bold;
and with each night that Zachariah sleeps, he doesn’t realize he’s also nourishing his soul. – RSM