It is my favourite time of year again!
This morning, as I gazed out my back window over the sea of yellow grain heads arching under a blue sky, I wondered if it would begin today. The wheat is gold to the ground now, and it whispers of its ripeness with the gentle movement of the breeze. There is no sound in the world quite like it, the whisper of its readiness.
Is it madness to love harvest time so much?
I love the clouds of chaff and the rhythm of the reel, the slow crawl of the yellow machines as they systematically mow, thresh and separate these fields of gold. I cannot help but feel excitement when the machine disappears over the brow of the hill and down toward the village, only to return ten minutes later to make another pass directly in front of my house.
The air hums with the wheat harvest. These very heads of grain, mere blades of green in January, have reached toward the sky and ripened beautifully under our gloriously warm summer sun. The scent of wheat straw laid out in neat rows to dry for baling holds an earthy beauty.
Today’s beauty is tomorrow’s food.
It is true. I have been accused of being just a bit of a romanticist, and I cannot rightly deny it. But I have been called worse.
“Lift up your eyes and view the fields, that they are white for harvesting.” John 4:35
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