Gardens and bunnies, corn and metal

I like little bits of broken things. There is this knob of metal on the driveway, small like a robin’s egg, easy to be mistaken or just mixed in with the dirt and rubble of stones and busted concrete there, but on closer look it has an hourglass shape and is made of copper. I like it. I will put it on the alter in my garden, where heels of old glass bottles, shiny stones seashells and busted pieces of porcelain grow reverence. Most of it I dug up in the garden either here or on Truslow Road. My own little tribute to the earth, who sees all things grow. And helps them or holds on to them as they pass away.

Our garden is growing strong. Zuchs and squash are coming on and so are our first hearty green tomatoes. The broccoli, still! is sending off shoots. My Parsley and Basil are doing well and so are Chamomile and Milk Thistle. And oh, the sunflowers are waist high already! But my St. Johns, White Sage and Lavender don’t look like they made it. I heard Lavender and St. Johns don’t go well from seed, and as for my White Sage I got lazy when it came to weeding.

Gardens need watering and priming, weeding and so forth. Thank god for Brandon cuz I just ain’t been with it this summer. I look out on the sea of shiny green leaves of corn in every direction. Slow growing but woah—fast enough so when I go away for a week I am stunned to come home and laugh at myself talking to them, to these stocks of stand after stand of GMO corn rows, who still glisten the gold dusk energy of dancing shimmer on the air at magic time every night anyway when the sun goes low and casts gold on everything and you can see between the zones, there they are all gold even tho the humans have been fucking with their gene pool—Myyy my babies! Look at how tall you’ve grown! Then I stand there with this life pull inside me humming, and I look at all this corn, and I think, there must be something for me, too…It is a prayer of sorts? And also, it is mildly depressing. So usually instead of the garden and all the perpetual growing all around me I go inside. And write. Or do laundry. It feels like we always have a lot.

Bran showed me around where he tilled this morning. It was like a dream when he said, “Have you seen the baby bunnies?” then grabbed a hoe and moved a pile of hay, snuggled tight among a nest of weeds and my Chamomile, aside. There were like three, or four, little lumps of fur curled together under there. Little shut-tight eyes. Soon they will eat what’s left of our bitter lettuce and I will yell and shoe them off of our watermelon shoots. I love them silently and gently and humbly with a weird absolution and tears in my eyes.

Oh garden, just to watch how you grow.

Potluck tonight, curry theme. Thank god for us, us people, confusing things. Us friends to each other, trying to make sense of it all. Hope you like zucchinis, guys.