Looking for harvest
Without corn behind my house, not only am I missing a few sneaked suppers, but my sense of time. I prefer time as shown by the fields rather than the hands of my watch. I miss the surprising changes, how I see something every day and then one day it's different. Seedlings become stalks that are taller than me. It keeps me aware that growth is always going on even when unobserved.
That, of course, is my hope for myself. Despite all this seemingly endless muddling about, I am becoming what I'm supposed to be and will eventually produce what I'm supposed to produce. That sounds so fatalistic, yet I know I have a hand in what's growing. My choices have determined what's been planted as well as the events of my past or some thread spinning Fate.
I guess the real question, for me, is what have I planted?