Rush, Rush, Rush

A bug lands, searches, and intuitively searches for its purpose: to propel itself on. It is not aware of its fuller place in the larger network of the organic farm—the pollination, the protection, the advertising of the fruit’s stage o ripeness. The visit to the organic farm, the tour, revitalized how the sugar of existence bekons or ingestion. The natural cycle of seasons announces and reannounces something essential in all lie: birth, death, resurrection, particularly in autumn. Autumn, with the dying of warm everything, and the retreat of cool cravings and lazy inclinations. The proclamation of color right before the “fall”. Apples, pears, pumpkins. Saying those words out loud (try it now) is like a chant, offering a balm, a refuge.

Many people name autumn as their favorite season.

Say the words aloud again:
apples, pears, pumpkins.
There is something round, alluring, and freeing the fall from summer’s business of RUSH, RUSH, RUSH. That is my immediate modus operand to my life: Get IT Done. The quicker the better. Dispose of this thought, check this errand of the list, complete this task. Now, now, now.
There is no need to rush the autumn.
In autumn, on the farm, rushing is antithetical to production, to fertility, to the purpose of propelling forward.

The fly flies.

What are you rushing in your life?

(See more about the farm tour on my 101 list!)


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