Harvest came late and early,
all at the same time.
Fruits were ripe for pickin' while
the first crop lay rotting in the fields,
groves, orchards, and urban greenhouses.
There was no way to keep up
with this burden of blessing.
We had to step on the squishiness of it all,
just to gather new bounty.
Ruined shoes and laces,
hot and sweaty faces,
an eagerness to unload,
to catch our breath,
led us in prayer for more time.
We wanted a rewind,
a step back in time,
just so we could be ready,
so the mess wouldn't slow us down.
But there it was,
glaring in the sun
like a ton of wasted wishes.
All we could do was keep pickin'.
Molly Roland is a writer by nature, and she enjoys stepping over the invisible lines society loves to draw.