Harvest Race

A green giant lumbering through the cotton field, the picker races the wind, the rain, and the ever-nearing woes of Winter. Albino fireflies of lint swarm around his monstrous frame wildly dancing on the cool breezes and brilliant beams of ever-changing light that follow him through his long days. The giant tortoise runs the Harvest Race with slow and steady precision leaving a vast graveyard of stalks in his wake. The wind and rain of seasonal storms run through the fields at lightening speed teasing him with their agility but eventually fall to the ground short of victory.

Weather slows the season but won't completely stop the patient progression of Harvest in the Missouri Bootheel.

Southern Snow

An endless wait through Spring's rain, Summer's sun and the always unpredictable nature of Fall. A quick prayer for grace and blessing. And, finally, the motor roars with a sound that could wake the dead or at least breathe new life into the nearly frozen field. Harvest has arrived. Later than usual, but perfectly timed to a breathtaking view of pure white southern snow. A vision to behold.

The scene that unfolds each year in the farmer's field is a picturesque lesson of the bountiful profit of patience and prayer.

Sleeping Beauty

As the Earth prepares for winter's slumber, she seeks to ward off the already present chill in the air with a blanket made entirely of leaves. Shaking gold and auburn bits of beauty from the limbs of already dozing trees with a cool and gentle breeze, she calls her offspring home. Leaves basking in the brilliant light of a quickly passing sun soak up their final days of warmth before falling to the ground like raindrops in the wind. There beneath the feet of passers-by their colors fade to brown, beauty sleeps and death becomes new life.

Through the winter months of muted tones the rich glory of Autumn lies hidden in the soil, sound asleep, but she will rise again like a Phoenix from the ashes as nourishment for the breathtaking wonders of Spring.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wind Blown

As the view of cotton bolls opening more each day becomes a treat for the eyes, nature plays a trick. With howling winds and chilly drizzle, she rains on the Halloween parade of ghostly trick or treaters dancing in the farmer's fields. And cotton dots the ground. The first day of a new month dawns on wind blown plants weary of standing in the midst of the seemingly ever changing seasons.

Half-full bolls proudly stand beside half-empty bolls, and each person will see the ones they choose to see.