Wintry Wardrobe

With the bulkiness of summer's foliage stripped from her graceful limbs, the cotton stands nearly naked for a time. Determined to clothe herself once more in stunning splendor, she quickly dons a wintry wardrobe of creamy perfection. Her ghostly pallor pops against the brown backdrop that covers the landscape in the wake of summers death.

The wooly white blanket of harvest beauty becomes the perfect complement to the cooler temperatures and shorter days of Fall.

Glory Rising

In the early morning hours as darkness fades to light, cotton candy like clouds rise above the farmer's fields. Blushing pink in the heavens like a bashful bride waiting patiently for her soundly sleeping husband to rouse from his slumber. Suddenly he appears just above the horizon. Barely awake, but already brilliant in his presence. The Rising Glory of her love paints the cotton with fiery flames of orange and red.

The masterpiece that fills the sky and paints the Earth beneath becomes a tribute to his undying love for his beloved bride.

Soggy Bottoms

The unwelcome sounds of rain and thunder herald the start of the harvest season. Day after day, dark clouds roll overhead and the thoroughly soaked ground begins to squish underfoot. The fragrant smell of freshly fallen water saturates the now crisply cooled air and the rain soaked cotton plants display slightly soggy bottoms. Cotton, only recently freed, droops dangerously low as if the too long seasons have left it weary of hanging onto life and impatient to be plucked from its prickly prison of husk.

The promise of harvest is given anew in the skies above as well as on the stalks below as the yet unopened bolls bask in the refreshingly brilliant skies that follow the clouds.

Change of Prayers

As one season begins, another fades away. Hues of orange and brown replace the green fields of summer. Final blooms of white whither and fall to the ground like unfinished works of art that never will become what they were meant to be. The cotton plants now boast all the bolls that they will bring into harvest. The need for water fades just as autumn showers begin to fall on already open tufts of cotton. The fickle nature of farming demands a change of prayers as picking season approaches.

The farmer rolls up the polypipe, closes up the wells, puts away the pumps, and hopes that heaven takes a cue and that nature's sprinkler system won't flood the fields with too much rain during the harvest.