Sickle: Harvesting Life


Margot Adler died this week.

Meanwhile, in our yard the tomato plants are heavy with fruit. The green beans are beginning to dry. The apples, most not yet ripe, drop some offerings from their branches.

It is harvest time. The fog has rolled in, a heavy blanket from the San Francisco Bay. It does this every year around this time.

I give thanks for the harvest, for the fog, for Margot's life. My heart and mind are quiet. Waiting.

I feel curious about what things are yet to come.

May your harvest match in sweetness whatever may feel bitter. The scythe cuts all things down.

But new things grow.


Here is a poem I wrote many years ago, sometime in the mid to late 1990s. In other words, last century.



4 Responses to “Sickle: Harvesting Life”

  1. Isabelle

    I love your poem, its very evocative.
    I learned a little while ago that my mother has breast cancer. Lots of internalization for me in this upcoming autumn as the harvest might take into winter the most live giving and caring tree I have ever been blessed to know. Seeds of many kinds have grown from that tree, kindness, caring, support, creativity, artistry, curiousness, perfectionism, smells of lazy sunday morning breakfasts and late nights threading yarn. I am grateful for the harvested feelings of love and know that many have feasted from this well tended field, yet I hope that many more autumns can welcome her at every dawn for more years to come

    • Thorn


      I’m glad you are in a state of gratitude for your mother’s life. What a blessing.
      May she heal.

  2. Dana Morgan

    You captured this particular season beautifully. “May your harvest match in sweetness whatever feels bitter” — thank you for the blessings, may you enjoy them manyfold in your own life. Best and blessings — :Dana

  3. P. Sufenas Virius Lupus

    Sickles and scythes…the work of overthrowing Ouranos, Kronos, and Typhon happened with those same implements. Hmm…!

    In any case, thank you for sharing all of this!


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