I stand at the brink of cultivated ground
Fertile soil where seeds were deposited with care and comported with compassion
Watered daily with the doting dew of affirmations
Doled out religiously and sacrificially on the altar of your bounty
I paid homage and tithe on the shrine of your still waters waiting for them to run with reckless abandon
Flood like the Nile just to recede and leave a soup of sediment that could become clay in my hands
I sit in the mud joyously thankful for it
Until I see the shadow
Something has blossomed a cloud in the expanse of your clear skies
Darkening the atmosphere and interrupting the joy that used to effortlessly be synthesized
Dancing to the soundtrack of percussion and incessantly catchy melody
And it all begins to crumble…
One ingredient missing
That’s all it takes for the Harvest to never manifest
I am here in the present
Reliving the past
And again I will plant for the future
Hoping that the fertile season will come
This time bearing succulent fruit
If only you weren’t allergic.