The Harvest

42 days.

For the first time in my life I truly feel as I can relate with how my Ancestors felt approaching the Harvest.

Unexpected days off are a blessing. I'll be away soon, away for a long time. Twenty six weeks and one day. Yesterday at work I was given the opportunity to swap one shift for two, and I took it. Soon it will be to late to work anymore out of my fields, the Harvest is upon me. A true artisans work is never finished, only abandon. For once I know that desperation, that fear that the winters stock will not last, but I'll do whatever I can for as long as I can.

Life presents opportunity. Not in the prosperity preacher sort of way, but should you have the strength and resolve to carry on you can find a way.

In my studies of Asatru I recently read a beautiful piece on the importance of gift giving. While I face this insatiable urge to gather more I also must acknowledge the good fortune I have. Even as I prepare to serve my country I must understand that the ability to do that is a gift. Once upon a time my people gave gifts to ensure balance in the world. Where has that way of thinking gone?

I'll wrap this up with a profound question I stumbled upon today.

Why did the chickens take to the forest?

I'm fortunate to meet this out my front door each morning.

I step out the door for my morning run on Sunday. Sunday is a tough day. I'm staring a long day in the face, not to mention there always seems to be going on on Sunday.

I've recently discovered Pagan podcasts, years late I know but I'm obsessed. So im trudging along through the morning fog listening to Druidcast. I love Dave, his enthusiasm is evident, and boy does he play great music.

I use the morning fog on days like today to gauge my time. I know when the sun burns through I'm almost out of time. Listening to podcast has distracted me though, I always stress to people to just take in the world around them, to walk in silence and listen.

I don't remember why exactly, maybe at the back of my mind I know that it's time to listen to something else. I pull out my ear buds as I reach my turn around point, two miles.

I sit an catch my breath a moment, in the distant fields you can see the small housing for the migrants. I see some stirring, but its quiet after all it's Sunday morning.

As I walk down the path, I'm now more aware of many things. The feeling of my sweat cooling my skin, and I begin to chill, as fall approaches. I can now hear the determined cicadas up in the trees. Surely they now threir time to nears and end. I can hear the small critters snapping branches and rustling leaves as I stroll by. On the path before me I can see the long trail of a snake I had missed earlier, the law prints of a couple dogs in the mud, and an old farm cat keeping vigilant watch on a bench post. I nod in acknowledgement and continue on. My mind starts to drift, but in a good way, that productive sort of daydream. I wonder if I'll see War, if I'll be able to maintain my strong spiritual sense of self, then I make a mental note to back a book to read in my work bag today. My mind continues to wander. Then I realise the fog is gone. Time to step of this path, and continue on the next.