Now we are reminded that everything is laid out before us. It is not only the fruits that remind us, though they stand dusty and warm in fall's golden light. It is not only the kids, who measure time in lengths of anticipation and celebration. It is not even the seasons, which race forward like a great dark dog running through an unending field.

It is this that reminds us: the sweetness of now, this field, the light slanting off these orange orbs, every shape and size. It is the sweetness of becoming, the squash swelling in their skins. It is the sweetness of revealing, the leaves, large as hands, that have been covering their treasures for weeks now, fall away.

Now is harvest, not just of this field, but of every past day, an invitation to reap again and again. Everything has led up to this -- the breeze moving across the landscape, the light soaring in from our near star, even the way you stood last year this time, all the moments in between. Just reach out, take what you need from the ever-ready vine.

It is this simple, finding perfection in earthy warm globes, carried under the arm or in the cradle of two hands, fingers laced together to bear the weight.