Growing Weary

     In the dead of winter I am desperate to see green growing things; now, near the end of the summer, I am growing weary.  The price of the beauty and utility of plants is eternal vigilance: watering, weeding, mowing, gathering.  The flowers themselves seem hot and weary, the vegetable gardens have begun to fulfill their imperative to reproduce and perish.  Though it is the hottest part of the summer here in western Montana, in the evening stillness I begin to hear whispers of the coming autumn, "Soon there will be rest.  Soon there will be rest."  The vegetable gardens will be harvested and rest from their labor of provision, the flowers will keep blooming boldly in the face of the coming frost.  The insects will die, unmourned by most of us.  I like to visit warm climates in the winter, but I am glad I live where the land takes a winter vacation.  God stewards, both plant and human, who work so hard at their seasonal labor, deserve some time off.