Harvest Angel

In the evening twilight he suddenly stood there. Whether it was my own eyes that saw him or my spiritual eye, I no longer remember.

For a moment my gaze was no longer shaped by journalists, but I looked straight through time and space, and I held my breath.

There before me stood a harvest angel, taller than the highest mountain, silent and holy, waiting until the trumpet gives him the starting signal.
Full of suspense he looks out, over fields of wheat and rattle grass. Over people and their choices, over light and darkness.

Time ticks on and people make plans until the harvest bell booms them awake.
And, with baskets filled with their deeds, they are gathered for the great weighing.

‘Blessed are the meek, for they will be allowed to flourish for ever on the renewed earth,’ said the harvest angel without words.

Niels Zwaan 06 ’22 based on Matt. 13:24-40