Protecting the Harvest

An uneasy restlessness grips me

Finding no simple solutions, I begin to probe deeper,

Touching tender places, bruised and sore,

Seeking the core, the roots.

On my knees, I crouch low,

The hot sun scorches my back,

And I sweat in the heat.

It's hard work;

Work I'd rather leave for a more convenient season,

When the sun's rays weren't so hot,

And the soil was softened by rain.

But the angle of the sun tells me

I haven't much time.

So I poke and sift, pinching off insects;

Driving away the pesky birds and bunnies

That would harm my harvest.

My heart is cheered when I pause...

And realize that The Lord of the Harvest

Is working close by.

~ By Marjorie Kinnee