This Green World

Garden: The point in the season when the secret code of the seed finally spells out its message and there are full baskets brought in, one after another until the house speaks of this green world: cucumber, basil, tomato, pepper.  Life.

Branch and Leaf:  Going to center of lilac bush to remove the mulberry tree, rose bush and oak, cherry overtaken.  The right, sharp tool soft slicing through the intruder branch, blue tarp that drags them to the pile.  Lynn comes with his tractor to take it all to the burn pile, teaching me:  "Next time, if you'll lay all the branches facing one direction, it'll be easier for us to pick up with the lift."  I can choose to feel admonished or soak it in like all the other lessons he's taught me, that I can use should I ever try this kind of thing on my own one day.

How Yellow is Brighter:  Against this green world, five-pointed bee seduction.

Fruit of the Leaf's Labor:  And I am learning again.  "Those blackberries you picked for us the other day, they were good."  He remembers the first time I picked a pint three years ago and brought it too sour to eat.  I am learning.

The Yellow Eye:  Watches over garden, accidental (dropped from apron pocket full of birdseed?) sentinel.  And the ferny asparagus, the third year watching it mature, repayment for Ila's bed, half of which I pulled out my first summer here thinking it was better to pull the entire plant once it had gone to seed.  I am learning.

Green Tomato: Pulled from the vine once reaching its perfect circumference, knowing they'll ripen here while the plant can turn its attention to the small yellow blossoms growing full and dreaming of this windowsill.

Tractor:  Moving the limb from the dead apple tree that fell in the orchard during the storm this week.  "I had it on my list to get that tree down somehow.  Looks like I can cross that one off."  "Would you mind if I planted one there next Spring?  I'd love to leave a tree here."  "Sure.  I'll tell you where we should plant it."

Bulb:  Just when you think the green world will end, the surprise lilies appear speaking 1987 and the bulbs dropped in dark soil, the flower writing, "I'm the same flower blooming 100 years."

Morning Glory: How they began to climb the rail and beams and roses, tendrils reaching into space looking to touch something solid with open green heart.

In our Secret Garden:  Cucumbers vining, butterfly garden, Nora and Bekah catching 3 dollar ball won at the fair today.  The catapult Nora invented.  We are always thinking of new ways to move and grow.  This is the only explanation for the color I dream at night and when I wake.