The harvester with his scythe
knows when the wheat is ripe
and when to cut the ripened grain.
His task is well defined and traditional
so why dress him in hooded black
and give him the first name of Grim?
I have known him since I was a child;
he lived far away and
I saw him so seldom I paid him no mind.
When war came he moved in from the country
and I got to know him
through community acquaintances.
Memorial day in the Masonic cemetery
I was clearly reminded of him
as I viewed his neatly placed bundles.
Later he paid formal visits
and selected grandparents
but was soon gone and forgotten.
Again the high school class graduation list
in preparation for a reunion
exhibited his work ethic.
Some time in recent years
he has moved into the neighborhood
and I see him on my morning walk.
He comes to visit often
and watches me collect rubber bands
from the morning paper.
One more day, one more rubber band
on the mail box hook
he sees how many there are there.
He stands by watching the seconds
tick away on the microwave
and I wonder how high he can count.
From a slight acquaintance from far away
the harvester has now become roomer and
we exchange observations each day.
My ears hear too little
my eyes dim, knees stiffen
slight pains remind me of him.
Soon it will be harvest time
in this wonderful part of the field
where I have had the great pleasure of ripening.
Reaper yes, grim no
and not to be dressed in black
ripening is the most colorful season of all.
Doug Minnis
Oct 24, 2011