Brilliant blue of the sky,
Bugs buzzing and bumbling,
Beans bouncing into the bin,
Breathing in the blend of fall harvest ~
dust, dirt, and stalks,
a different smell than that of wheat harvest.
A smell of autumn,
Not quite knowing,
If it will be hot or cold,
Depending from day to day,
What weather chooses to be on display,
The combine hums.
Gracefully cutting its swath and eating up the ripened crop.
The tractor and grain cart lumber ponderously into place,
Sitting, waiting patiently,
Ready for the waterfall of beans to fall from the auger of the combine and fill the empty space.
Then, loaded, beans mounded high, rivulets sliding from the peak into the corners,
the tractor pulls its load through the empty spaces of the field, headed to the next step of harvest,
the truck, the grain hauler, willing to step up and put in the miles, many or few, delivering the grain to its destination.
The process and pattern and rhythm and routines of each year.
Of each field.
Bringing in the ripened, ready crop.