Now it is time for harvests and from this I glean:
My small garden teems with tomatoes and poblanos, the plants endured through the dry spells of July and August – seeming to hope against events that their fruit would would come forth.
The window box of basil and sage and thyme is overflowing and beginning to seed, whilst the onions (shallots) share their home with clover – ever-present even after my attempts to weed.
This is a testament to their community and synergy, and I have learned to let them be.
The linden and pear are beginning to yellow and will soon fade and wear – leaving bones to bear the brunt of winter’s ungracious wind, the rattling leaves entrusted to another’s care.
By and by, more near than far – time will rest in plentitude with harvests of what I’ve tended to. I’m hopeful that my days were seeds – that the times I grew and raised and reaped met others’ needs or made amends, or shared a bitter cup whilst making friends.
Taps and Ratamacues 
Lovely analogy.
Thanks. Hope all is well out west.
Beautiful. I love the word choice of “glean”. The internal rhymes are excellent too.
Thank you. I’m glad that it was a good read for you.
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I hope you don’t mind, I’ve reblogged this.
Thanks so much. I appreciate that.
It’s my pleasure. I only wish that I had written it.
Love this, thanks for posting it.
Thank you for reading.