Winnowing

In the dwindling days of the year,

you find me
in the fields,
ready for harvest.

Shall the culling
be bitter
or shall it
be sweet?

Harvest,
the turning of the year,
the time of turning
and returning,
for threshing
and for winnowing.

Stand amid the grain
and feel the wind,
gathering ripe stalks
with whispering
and singing.

Stand among the still tender shoots
and feel the wind,
caressing each and all
into a dance of plenty
with a song.

The winnowing fan
is aloft, riding the breeze!
The music and the dance,
the singing never ends!

The same song
garners the wheat
as burns the chaff;
in either case,
transcendence
is the fruit.

Now the song,
the sweet song,
has found me,
inside the dance,
inside the spiraling now.

Take me in the field,
and winnow on.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Blessings and prayers for our departed loved ones, this All Souls' Day.