Fallow Ground

(Inspired by Hosea 10:12)

I have let the seasons whisper past,
the heart-field settled into itself—
hard quiet,
thin seams threading the clay
where something once breathed.

The plow waits in the rafters,
its edge remembering work.
I pretend the sky will break first,
though rain slides off stone
as if the earth has nothing left to say.

So I lift the old harness
and feel its familiar weight—
a question, more than a task.
The first press of steel
draws a soft, reluctant sigh
as the ground recalls its opening.

Under the turning rise the buried shapes—
the wire-twist root,
the husk that never split,
a crust of something unnamed
that resisted even winter.

I fold them under without naming them,
letting the soil take what I release.
Prayer lengthens into the pull,
Scripture a single taut line
steadying the unseen furrow.

Obedience becomes a slow pattern—
row after row of ordinary hours,
seeking Your trace in heat shimmer,
in small silences,
in the breath between wingbeats.

And when the sky at last loosens—
not a sentimental mist
but that long, necessary rain—
let it fall inward,
into the places that would not yield.

Let it wake the quiet seeds
I forgot I planted.
Till You come, I’ll keep breaking ground—
and when You come,
let this field remember how to sing.

If this poem stirred something in your heart, remember that the deepest roots grow from God’s Word itself. “Thy word have I hid in mine heart, that I might not sin against thee” (Psalm 119:11). If you’d like simple, practical help in tucking Scripture into memory…

👉 Sign up for the free FAST Crash Course in Bible Memorization: http://fast.st/cc/21419