Wet not from sweat but from a soft rain that’s falling, a perfect rain that you pray will follow the planting. But the planting was not completed last evening, as tired from the day’s work you put down your hoe.
A price that you pay for the pleasure of seeding, of growing, of smiling at flower buds that turn into tomatoes. Tomatoes that turn up sliced on your plate in late August, so today, you plant out in the rain.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology