How Does Your Garden Grow?
the stakes set for climbing.
Green tomato shoots,
a laughter of lettuce,
and one exuberant pumpkin vine.
The corn points,
and peppers balloon in unison.
A party of blossoms ready to fruit.
And I’ve been in that place (places?) where words seem to have lost their importance. The just living place, wandering from task to task without taking time to reflect.
I’m amazed in novels that the protagonists are always so thoughtful about the whys of their behavior and conversation and wonder if I am the only one stumbling through life mostly guessing at the how-comes after the fact. A garden commands attention, but lacks the alternative motivations of people.
Michael says, taking close ups of the peppers only makes them feel self conscious.
Last night I realized that I have an extra week in July. A no travel week. Popped up on the calendar like a rogue seed. A week to watch the garden, walk the dogs and (maybe, if I can get my brain creaking) a week to put some words on paper. Turn the sunshine into something to chew on.