The season of harvest
is full upon us now
in south central Kansas.
Fields of wheat
growing west of the Flint Hills
have turned pure golden
with subtle hints of brown.
Acres of stubble testify
to the work of crews and families
and long hours spent with combines and collectors
and tractor trailer rigs parked parallel to the rows.
Meals are eaten in the fields
and sleep sometimes taken in shifts
when there is enough wind
to keep the night from sending its dew.
All else but what is sacred
—and perhaps some of that as well—
seems to give way
to the needs of seed
held high on slender stalks
that could be crushed to the ground,
matted to the earth by a burst of wind and rain,
never to rise again.
it is hard to keep what is needed
to endure the storm
when we have given up
or believe ourselves too old
for what is green and growing.
Even in these latter years,
it is good to keep sowing
and though others may gather
what we have planted,
those we love will be blessed
and the One who sends sun and rain
will still be honored by the Harvest.