Imperfect Prose - Prairie Fields

I travel slow

gravel roads kicking up thick dust

only hours after rain

faster on the highway

the fields surround me

swirling in colours

turning toward harvest

God Who called this one

from darkness to light;

from strip malls, concrete, steel;

from the suburban sprawl

of midwestern America;

to find home at last

on this Canadian prairie

speaks in a hush

that screams in my spirit

as the farmers drop their sweat

upon the soil

"there is more than eyes can see

a greater harvest still to come"

Then I saw a white cloud, and seated on the cloud was someone like the Son of Man. He had a gold crown on his head and a sharp sickle in his hand. Then another angel came from the Temple and shouted to the one sitting on the cloud, “Swing the sickle, for the time of harvest has come; the crop on earth is ripe.” Revelation 14:14-15

Join Emily at In the Hush of the Moon for Imperfect Prose on Thursdays