I like to plant pumpkins on the fourth of July. I do not like fireworks, crowds, or parades. I prefer the quiet of the garden. The dry, heat packed dirt. The chance to grow something new.
I like the feel of your pulse in my hand. The quiet beat that gives me hope. This is not the night.
Putting Down Roots
I like to plant pumpkins on the fourth of July. I do not like fireworks, crowds, or parades. I prefer the quiet of the garden. The dry, heat packed dirt. The chance to grow something new.
The tall already harvested sweet corn shadows me. Beans bloom and beckon bugs. And in the dying barley I find a place to plant a tree as well.
Harvest Moon
I like to plant pumpkins on the fourth of July. I do not like fireworks, crowds, or parades. I prefer the quiet of the garden. The dry, heat packed dirt. The chance to grow something new.
Little moons on the ground in the fall they gleam. The galaxy of my universe small, travels far on ice cream plated pumpkin pie. Warming a candlelit soul with the smile of knife sharpened teeth.
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