The earth is the Lord's... and mine too

The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof…
I’ve been reading Wendell Berry poetry again letting my soul fill up. This man reminds me of all the men and women I knew growing up for whom the land was both work and play. In my reading this morning one poem called my name.
BELOW
Above the trees and the rooftops
is the range of symbols:
banner, cross, star;
air war, the mode of those
who live by symbols, the pure
abstraction of travel by air.
Here a spire holds up
An angel with trump and wings;
He’s in his element.
Another lifts a hand
with forefinger pointing up
to admonish that all’s not here.
All’s not. But I aspire
downward. Flyers embrace
the air, and I’m a man
who needs something to hug.
All my dawns cross the horizon
and rise, from underfoot.
What I stand for
Is what I stand on.
This week I have stood on fields rowed by golden hay shining in the sun, smelling sweet and clean. Standing on top of the trailer high with hay bales, I see the hillside pasture with bull, horses and donkeys surrounded by pines and briars. Walking to the stable in the early morning dew, the morning mist lingers in the valleys as the sun rises behind a pink rimmed cloud. The spring fed red clay muck sucks my shoes off and I squish my toes in the mud, a guilty pleasure of childhood once again mine. I pull weeds from the flowerbeds gloveless and black dirt rims my fingernails. What I stand for, I do indeed stand on and I give thanks for farm, family and friends.