Early morning rain dampens my window.
The rain serves to remind
of what might have been,
had it come earlier
and stayed longer.
Fields of soybeans.
Pods shriveled, ungenerous yield at best.
Their leaves, dry and thin, glimmer;
paper pennies in the wind, they
bring no good luck.
Farmers turn the fields
as sun defeats shower again.
The ground lays open, grey, spent.
They won’t have to race to beat the snow.
The work is done.
Small comfort when the bills come due.
I turn the car toward home,
my mind laden with worry and regret.
So many plans
for a harvest of the talents —
God’s reign in me.
All too often squandered,
waiting ’til just before the snow
to turn promise into treasure.