On the fence.

Another freeze is expected tomorrow night. High 20s. Do I cover the green beans again?

Last time the got some burn. They are flowering now. They’ll likely burn, covered, again. And need a bit of time to try and fruit, again.

I got called a softy, again, today. He wasn’t wrong 😉

So I’ll likely cover them, again. And hope, again, for a long enough stretch of warm sunshine for a green bean bite, or three.

At least until the onions arrive and the brassicae transplants demand more space and the green beans surrender.

Nestled.

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 light moves up as the sun goes down.

A picnic on blankets and chairs. His wrinkled cheeks under his chubby ones. Her hair cascading down her growing back. My toes, tiny, covered in dirt and red polish. His toes, tiny, covered in purple sparkle shine. We eat snow peas from ten feet away and listen to the bees on the broccoli and radish.

I don’t joke when I show my garden to others, introducing it as My Happy Place.

Worn.

My thumb is split and splitting more yet. My nails peel and my scalp hurts. My heart is sore, my mind spins, and old fearful aches returned home to roost.

And so I look to others to bloom.

Nasturtiums calling hello.

Volunteer mystery squash shining through.

Snow peas’ purple greeting.

Snap peas white nod has passed.

Red potatoes without red petals.

Blackberries without black blossoms.

A mess of friends of all ilk.

I’ll see if I can’t tend my soil a little more. If I can’t feed my roots a little extra. If I can’t water my leaves a little softer. I’ll see tomorrow.