It's harvest time!   Ross and I sat at the window the other night and took in the 8pm show: the combine harvester was in the field taking off the 7 ft. corn stalks; we were going to be getting our unobstructed view of the highway and river again!  It triggered a fun memory of listening to the Wurzles hit, "The Combine Harvester,"  back in the day.  It also took me back to late nights catching turkeys and harvesting veggies in the wee hours, and I offered up a prayer for all of the hard working farmers out there. Now the gleaners have arrived; the haunting sound of myriads of honking geese, circling above and gliding in to the feast—the ultimate local shoppers; It would be nice if they'd pick up a bag of leaves on their way out—they're going for a good price!

I don't know how many of you are members of the 'wide awake at 3am' club, but It struck me that instead of trying to count sheep in those 3am sleepless hours, I'll envision the combine harvester cutting down each of my worries, one by one, reducing them from 7ft. problems to 1 ft manageable stubs. I hope that you all have found strategies for dealing with a problem that is plaguing half the population, especially in these new COVID normal days.  This wee poem came to me at 3am this morning; I hope it will give you a smile—it was pretty insistent that I write it down at the time:   

'Most of my ills I have cured,

The worst I have always survived,

But the very worst ones I endured

Were those that never arrived.'

... from my little Friendship Book

 

Over the Moon!

or: What's sleep got to do with it, got to do with it?

 

I don't know why

I can't sleep anymore,

But I know it's all over

When my toes hit the floor;

My muse thinks that sleeping

Can take a back seat,

must stand there in line

While my worries repeat

Themselves over and over

And over again—

Could they not have come knocking

At a quarter to Ten?

 

I don't know why

I can't sleep at night,

I do love the moon,

But it's shining so bright!

It winks and then gives my eyes

One extra pull;

I stand at the window;

The scene is so still;

In the quiet of midnight,

Its glow settles down,

Painting the landscape

Across field and town

With soft pearly colours

Where dark ones had been;

Touching down in my heart,

There perhaps to begin

To pour peace on my worries,

To quiet their din;

With a nod to my pillow,

I'll try sleep again!