working in the garden

Winter is coming. Greens, kale, beets and radishes. Persimmons, fresh eggs, dried figs, and hopefully rabbit meat. Today we started turning the soil and building the frame for the new bed. Saw a black widow spider and caught her leg in a board. Power-sawed and tasted the smell of sawdust. The sound reminded me of my father.

Under a canopy of soft green leaves and warm sun, I wove between branches laden with figs, a breath away from glowing delicate blue. Stepping over old wood the ground was like burnt toast with thick jam on top, oozing between my toes and filling my nose with a whisper, "Indian summer." My shirt sagged under the weight of my forging, and my adopted figs called out to their fallen comrades, "nurture thy mother."

The tomatoes were swollen, bursting under the constraint of over-population. Jujubes dried on the tree and catnip glistened in the afternoon light. My sweat salted the earth where my food will grow.

Golden grapes were discovered growing above the chicken coop.

Overflowing, I am gratitude.