The sunrise kisses my face and the coastal clouds move heavily between the hills,
Crunching of gravel beneath my feet comes in tune with the song birds melody,
Trees tower with looming silence and the morning harvest sits on the horizon.
File to blade, knife clean and mind quiet.
The day crescendos with the bell’s ring of excitement,
Garden carts squeak with the desire to be large with greens.
Stationed with new skills, we descend into the song of harvest.
Eyes are sharp and muscles groan in the familiar movement,
The conductor waves a wand of synchronicity,
Rhythm finds me and my blade with precision and flow,
One box. Two. Three. Four.
Standing in the space between crops,
My heart fills with gratitude for the harvest’s harmony.