Like the cycle of breath, each year has certain recognizable parts. The inhale. The pause. The exhale. The longer pause there, empty, waiting to be filled again.

The land rises and falls in rhythms. We rise and fall with it. Right now, in the midst of the harvest, the land is giving back plentifully. The market is overflowing with that bounty. We enjoy it now, but we save it for later too. Because we know, just like the busy squirrel storing away food for the long winter, that there is always a long winter ahead.

That's not something to be afraid of. That's something to relish. That long pause, emptied, before the nerves and muscles and bones - the sun and water and soil - coordinate to breathe in again.

Find your own rhythms here. Find your own breath. It's all waiting.

-The Land