Purple is as purple does.



Sometimes, it is the seeds sown 

yet not grown 

that burn the memories deepest. 

Sometimes, it is the stories 


that repeat, 

their beating in my skull. 

Sometimes, it is the same pain, 

this season, 

each year, 

that calls,



I find it hard to breathe. 


Going to gratitude keeps me sane so often these days. 

I was grateful the other day for two free hands during daylight hours to harvest sweet potatoes. 

It was a mediocre harvest this year. I only sowed the Japanese purple ones, thinking they had done the best and therefore deserved all the space. Yet the weather this year was different enough from the year before that they were pretty measly. So the lesson of the Great Potato Famine vs Peruvian potatoes has been relearned experientially. 

At least the bell peppers and Seminole pumpkins are still going strong. And the garlic came up. 

Teeny tiny nom.

Do you see it? No?

 How about now?

Not anymore. “Tomato? Mmmm…I like tomatoes. I’m chewing. All gone.”

This little plant hitched a ride a long way. From kitchen to compost. Compost to garden bed. Garden bed to front bed in the soil surrounding a (still unhappy) rosemary plant. It grew. And grew. Dodging lawnmower blades and only getting misty watering twice a week, it grew. 

Perhaps next year I’ll plant an intentional tomato there.