Harvest lessons

"The spirits do not reside in fields of uniformity. Draining the life out of the soil until it can support no more." The [druid] proclaimed, scythe in hand leading the way to the fields. It was to be a sunny couple of days, the last for a while the [elderly] reckoned. Everyone was out to collect the harvest from the broadest [young person] as strong as a bull to the smallest [child] carrying drinks for everyone. "Their whispers come from the hedgerows, the varied strips of grain and pulses, the wild meadows of sheep and cattle, the cover crop we plant to give a winter home to all who need it, in the babbling brook and the ancient trees that guard our homes. They reside in the pieces of wildness we allow into our homes and ourselves. Telling their tales in a tongue we cannot quite remember." [They] paused for a quick drink before continuing. "We are creatures of the wild even if we have decided to make a home elsewhere. Our lives still rely on the good graces of the earth and sky, we must never forget that." "But we must also remember that we are creatures of community, and give thanks to everyone around us, for without their help we wouldn't be able to plant or harvest as much as we can now." There were fewer people to hear this speech than normal, the harvest was forced to come sooner than many were comfortable with. Many tribes roaming the South hadn't arrived in time. [Their] kin prayed that they would arrive before the snow truly arrives thick enough to crush a tent under its weight. Winter is often a time of sadness but an entire [tribe] lost would be the largest tragedy since the lighting of the [forever fire]. Due to [his] upper body strength from a childhood spent training with a sword and shield, [he] was to use a scythe. [He] lined up with dozen of others, everyone had a strip of grain to harvest. Behind [them] was a row of smaller adults whose job was to tie up the bundles to dry. Threshing was apparently a job for tomorrow, [he] didn't know what that was but it sounded like hard work.