Protecting the Harvest

An uneasy restlessness grips me.
Finding no simple solution, 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 that I'd rather leave for a more convenient season,
When the sun's rays weren't so hot,
And the ground was softened by rain.
But the angle of the sun tells me
That I haven't much time.
So I poke and sift, pinching off insects,
And 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 also working close by.

~ MJKinnee