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Join us in looking at the harvest season.

Harvest is a state of mind more than the action of gathering produce from the ground and brushing away the caked on dirt. Many can harvest without making an inventory of their year or the reasons they planted in the first place.  They can miss the story that the interplay between heaven and earth tells the gardener. Even the joy of the harvest can be lost when we get too consumed with our next project and forget to pause to name the current gifts and provisions in the basket we call our days.  Read the poem below. It is an inventory poem. It helps me examine the content of a single day.  Think of yourself as a gardener.  Why review the plantings that thrived and the plantings that failed?  How does this awareness inform your next move? How does this make you wise? Sometimes seeing a plant that grew only a little gives you a hint about how you amended the soil to prepare it for the growing season. All of these reviews are crucial to your growth! Harvest is about leaning in to your life. It is close listening to know what is working and amending what is not working. Here is the poem:

Questions Before Dark

                                     Day ends, and before sleep

when the sky dies down, consider

                                     your altered state: has this day

                                     changed you? Are the corners

                                     sharper or rounded off? Did you

                                     live with death? Make decisions

                                     that quieted? Find one clear word

                                     that fit? At the sun’s midpoint

                                     did you notice a pitch of absence,

                                     bewilderment that invites

                                     the possible? What did you learn

                                     from things you dropped and picked up

                                     and dropped again? Did you set a straw

                                     parallel to the river, let the flow

                                     carry you downstream?

by Jeanne Lohmann