The green beans are nestled down. Snug under old linens of love.
The peppers are left to fend for themselves.
The carrots and peas won’t mind a smidge.
The front porch spirits are indoors.
Stay warm this spooky cool night, y’all.
The green beans are nestled down. Snug under old linens of love.
The peppers are left to fend for themselves.
The carrots and peas won’t mind a smidge.
The front porch spirits are indoors.
Stay warm this spooky cool night, y’all.
We’re getting a good soak. A strong rinse. A fast-flowing chatter of drops gushing down gutters. Stampedes beyond boundaries of wet, laden, droopy wishes. Pouring over edges not previously considered.
And then the sun winks through.
My turn! My turn! Me me me! scream the weeds.
Yes, you, too, little Lives, I reply. But goodbye.
The plant’s more than a little upset about its transplant, deluge of rain, and baking sun combo, but still it persists.
And without warning, we might be done with the snow peas.
Perhaps they are suchly named as the slightest snow ends their season?