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Sky is a blend of pink-orange-violet,
dim...but birds are already awake
steaming coffee wakes the senses
rooster calls on and on.....its silhouette
completes the early morning landscape...
it's that perfect moment...when
tradewinds blow...carrying scents
of the harvest season............when
horizon turns to the clearest of blue,
the eyes feast upon moving straw hats
...big and small.....
under the radiant morning sun
sparrows fly high and low
over lush golden fields of rice,
stems are now bowed....grains are ripe...
maidens' sweet voices join the air
hands and sickles move with flair
cutting.......in practiced strokes,
small hills are formed from gathered stalks
feet move in their rhythmic walks
laughter and conversations become songs
their cadence, brought by joys of the season,
weary thoughts have no space.....no reason
to exist, when sounds of glee are seizin' in...
hours can't be stilled.....excitement sobers
sun gives way to the moon and stars,
sickles are kept....laid beside mortars
and pestles......voices turn softer,
waning...slowly fading...into dark corners
................soon, crickets' song takes over...
when harvest moon glows, a breathing silence
rules over the shadows of the field...no fences,
just the moon watching, and a Guiding Presence...
thank God for another bountiful harvest
threshing awaits....but bodies are spent
..............tomorrow's another day!
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 15, 2018
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the traditional harvest time in my country
there was so much fun in the old practices...