Pic and a Word #233: Harvesters of sun

• Manja Maksimovič

Here is a poem and photo story of the sun-in-the-flowers and I through the years.

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H

a

r

v

e

s

t

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Harvesters of sun

Harvesters of sun
on a Sunday
which turned into Monday.

So I figure:
It was morning, and they were facing away.
If I come in the afternoon,
they will have to face me.
In theory.

But black hole sunflowers
had no more faces
to face.

They lost their turning power
due to too much sun.

And so they died
of what they harvested.

Better of sun than of sorrow.

.

Here, in photos, how I was discovering sunflowers from up close year after year. Not for the faint-hearted.

Unless noted, all photos were taken in the second half of June. I’ll be ready, even though the last two summers I haven’t seen any here in Tuscany. Did they give up on them?

  • The first year I don’t see them coming. What is that yellowing over there?
  • You gotta keep them separated. And well-oiled.
  • Since the battle is imminent.
  • They are closing in.
  • Drunk on victory, celebrating arm in arm.
  • When sunflowers cry.
  • I know how you feel. Newspaper commercial.
  • The next year, 2015. I’m cautious. I approach from the side.
  • And from the other side.
  • I creep near from the back.
  • Oh no! They plot to take me in my sleep!
  • But they wait for me wherever I go. Towards Piombino.
  • They’ve got the numbers.
  • This was on the morning of June 16th 2017.
  • Nooo! My fearless friend went right in!
  • Under cover.
  • It was hot but they were well fed.
  • The same field on July 8th when I returned with high hopes.
  • No more facing anything.
  • Another field on September 1st of the same year.
  • I’m no sunflower farmer so I don’t know, but I guess not the regular harvest.
  • The only ones I’ve seen since. In Fokovci, Slovenia, on the last day of last July. Much less heat.

In response to Patrick Jennings’ Pic and a Word Challenge #233: Harvest

18 thoughts on “Pic and a Word #233: Harvesters of sun”

  1. There’s something about sunflowers… I waver between liking and hating them. In a field, far away, I like them best. Up close, I’m reminded of painted pottery and paintings

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      1. The film is simply bad, but the book is good, I mean, not great literature, but an interesting kind of bad good, if you know what I mean, and if you like apocalyptic literature it’s a classic. Once you think about triffids, you will never forget them.

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