What if life were like farming or growing?
There is planning, there is the pleasure
of planting, and there is the desire to do
some fixing, focusing, weeding, winning,
pruning, gathering and garnering. Festivities.
A happy harvest is no freak. Dins. Wins. Nods.
Face fiascos and frailties. Perceive beyond famine.
You don’t cast off your cultivators. It’s a period, too.
You don’t toss away a baby’s wrap after his departure.
Courage is a means. It means confront climatic knocks.
Punch when it’s ripe, plant when it’s right, escape when
it’s escapable, and, accept when it’s inevitable. It’s the season.
That’s honorable, stated one farmer.
Life is farming. It has seasons, reasons.
Learning is relearning or unlearning.
Cultivated land is cared-for property.
A farmer faces different, dynamic seasons,
fears and hardships, all of which are lessons.
He knows where his food comes from. A rarity!
He grows it. Sometimes it glows. At times it bows.
It’s a winnable game. Sometimes a costly gamble!
One’s milieu or location, and state of mind are facets
that are continuously connected to health and happiness.
Famine can rob one of health or happiness. Hope or hunger?
There is an association between food, body and the milieu.
Famine is a possibility. It isn’t good for the environment, body
and mind. Famine is a fear, for farming is volatile and delicate.
It’s fine, too. The farmer grows, gives it all he has. Fumbles.
Tumbles. Heavens didn’t open up. Food fears. Frustration.
Famine begets losses materially, financially, psychologically,
and emotionally. It’s also time-wise. A mysteriously dry spell.
Yet a hopeless harvest cannot collapse the courage to farm on.
