Son Poem by Kate Richardson

The evening sun spilled gold
Across the fields that were so green
They hurt my eyes.

There, in that honeyed light
I saw my son run down to
Meet his father.

Down a gentle slope
To the lower field
Where he tended his plants.

Small boy,
Tiny from birth,
He looked more like ten than thirteen.

But as he ran in big green boots
His childish legs and body lengthened.

I saw him grow foot by foot
Plunging into that slanted spring light.

By the time he reached the lower field, he was a man.