Friday 15 September 2023

In another night of fractured sleep, I had dreams of large, massive blocks of stone being moved, aligned, straightened.

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Then awake and up at 4:30; there is a grating, metal-on-metal sound outside, and suddenly I am taken into a waking vision:

There are sickles and scythes being sharpened, and I watch as strong hands are running sharpening stones over the curved blades.

It is harvest-time, because I can see grain waving in the fields beyond, where some cutting has already been going on. But the blades need to be very sharp because there are also tough, thorny weeds – tares! – growing up in the crops.

Now the tools are ready again, and groups of people are setting out to continue the harvest. Men and women are using sickles in a field nearby. Further up a small incline several men are spaced farther apart, swinging the scythes in long arcs, moving slowly along.

There is a smoky fire going, and as the grain is being gathered into sheaves, the thorns and weeds are being pulled out and thrown onto the fire, which crackles brightly at each new addition.

The air is full of singing, rhythmic chanting with each cutting, praising God.

As I blink my eyes, the vision snaps closed, but I am left longing to stay at the harvest