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.

And the water shines down.

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.