Seedtime and Harvest

It’s autumn now:

The trees are blooming onto death,

The crops are fully grown,

Some of the fields are already empty.

We’ve planted our seeds,

The luckiest ones also watched them grow;

The harvest is plentiful.

The trees are blooming onto death though-

They bear no fruit,

They shed their leaves for winter.

Autumn makes death look so beautiful!

Is that true?

Or is it the letting go that’s golden?

Golden, copper leaves,

I wish that I could paint these trees.

But I cannot.

I’ll watch them instead as I harvest the field.

We’ve had so much sun this summer,

So much so that the ground missed the rain.

I didn’t.

I love the sun!

I wish it could come back in winter.

Maybe it will, maybe I’ll call that apricity.

I will name the miracle;

I will love the sun;

When it’s out again,

I will plant my seeds

And wait again for harvest-

Wait again for autumn-

Wait again for death and letting go-

To remind me how beautiful the light is.

I will love the seeds as much as I love the harvest.

I will love the harvest no less than the seeds,

And with every sunset, I will watch the leaves

Fall into the ground and become seeds,

Then plants and fruit and trees.

I will love the harvest of the trees that is autumn,

And perhaps this will lead me into spring-

Where days are long and fields are green

And nobody worries yet about the harvest.

Yet, tomorrow I will wake and harvest my small garden.

It’s late autumn now:

I should have harvested before,

But I love too much to watch things grow;

So I will wait another day,

I will not worry about the way

My plants decide to grow;

I will not use them-

Not put them into a metaphor-

But simply watch them grow.

It’s the end of autumn now:

Winter is coming,

Blooming with perspective

And giving birth to spring.

I still watch the trees,

I still love the sunset,

But I’m resting from the harvest.


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