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Harvest, rice spread out, cones like little golden tents on the sidewalk where jeepneys whirl by, far enough away from the old men on the wall spitting moma.
Harvest time should be plentiful, that’s the imagery. Maybe we don’t hear about the sad harvests that produce too little.
But you can harvest more than food.
This autumn’s bounty was middling. Three people to harvest enough for two; hungry animals wait in the shed. Siobhan holds the rake tightly.
Harvest, rice spread out, cones like little golden tents on the sidewalk where jeepneys whirl by, far enough away from the old men on the wall spitting moma.
Harvest time should be plentiful, that’s the imagery. Maybe we don’t hear about the sad harvests that produce too little.
But you can harvest more than food.
This autumn’s bounty was middling. Three people to harvest enough for two; hungry animals wait in the shed. Siobhan holds the rake tightly.