Early, when the sun has not yet risen, I go out into the field of Elul.
The field in morning twilight,
Full of fruits and vegetables, and weeds and clinging vines.
My pouch of seeds is in in the basket of bones that holds my heart.
My spade is in my hand, I am ready to dig, but I do not know where to start.
I hear the rustle of creatures in the brush.
The song of birds begins, softly at first, and then rising,
Just as your light rises.
I am in the field, O King. Help me, Guide me.
You are the light. You are my salvation.
Help me know, which are the weeds, and which are the fruits?
Help me to carefully compost all that does not serve me
So that my errors of the past return to the earth, to make it fertile for teshuvah,
For the seeds I am about to plant.
And help me harvest what good I can, from the passing year.
I walk further into the field, and in the distance, I glimpse You,
Standing on the horizon, your arms open to greet me.
The King is in the field!
I run toward your rising light and your embrace.
I am lifted high in my spirit.
And then I find you
Like a scarecrow, In overalls and a chambray shirt.
Your arms stretched wide, your head on fire with light.
You chase away the foes, the crows,
Those who would eat the seeds I try to plant,
Those who would distract me from the truth of my life.
Oh, the king is in the field.
Steadfast, steady, ready to embrace me.
He shelters me. I build my Sukkah in his shadow.
He reaches down to me.
I am hidden. I am loved. I am safe.
In Elul, the King is in the field.
In Elul,
And any time I dare to go there.
