Your Heart’s Bountiful Harvest

The heart is a field that remembers
every seed placed gently or in haste.
It swells with strawberries of laughter,
round and sun-warmed, bursting sweet against the tongue,
while rows of carrots, buried patience,
grow slow and sure beneath quiet soil.

Compassion drips like honeyed peaches at dusk,
their skins blushed with the work of careful hands,
and the body learns: what we tend, tends us back.

Green things climb where kindness is trellised,
spinach leaves unfurling like soft promises kept,
broccoli crowns gathering steady strength in clusters.

Respect is a well-watered garden bed,
dark, rich, forgiving of missteps if we return to it daily.
Laughter sautés in the skillet of shared mornings,
steam rising like breath made visible as the heart feeds on this,

heartily,

hungrily,
digesting the quiet discipline of good living.

From river and sky come deeper sustenance:
silver fish flicker through currents of trust,
clean, deliberate, sustaining as truth well spoken;
fowl with wide, knowing wings,

geese of loyalty,
hens of humble consistency,

offering their patient gifts.

We prepare them not with haste, but reverence:
for the intake we honor becomes the rhythm within us,
a seasonal harvest of joy and care,
where every mindful bite echoes in the chambers of feeling.

And so this is carried, cupped like a ripening pear,
to a young girl standing on the edge of departure,
her suitcase half-full, her thoughts overflowing with the noise of friends,

the urging of parents, the crossroads of what to keep and what to release.

And so…

“Feed your heart as you would your body,” she is told.
Choose what nourishes, what strengthens, what stays.”

She ponders the words…

For the heart knows, even in restless evenings,
the bright hum of anticipation before sleep,
that tomorrow’s harvest waits:
someone to look up to,
something to look forward to,
and someone to chase,
yourself, always just ahead,
calling you onward into a life
grown carefully, abundantly, your own.