Harvest Home

Almighty God, who holdest the yellow moon like a cherry bowl on the tips of thy fingers, is not our newly cleaned and covered corncrib an altar to thee?

As the silk retreats into the browning shuck, as the sap recedes and the day grows shorter, as the dahlias dance and the fringed gentians put on blue veils, as the apple seed darkens and the milkweed blows fairy cotton all over the place, as the blackbirds hold county convention and the patriarch swallow calls his family together, as the ewe weans her lambs and the calves let their hair grow, we know, Good Landlord, that another Harvest Home is come.

We thank thee for all this plenty that we are now too ingather.

And we pray thee for peace.

For enduring peace, based on this plenty, around the world.

Amen.

(from the book, The Farmer Gives Thanks; photo by 6151189 via pixabay.com)