Summer winding down, picking out a half a dozen trees to paint with yellow, orange, red. Dried vines still hold a few winter butternut squash, the leaves that hid the blossoms in a jungle long since gone. You have to look much harder at the peach trees now, to spot the few remaining from the changing leaves. All told, I’ll bet a thousand peaches later, I did a decent job of picking clean.
Inside, the fruit gurgles into wine. Tomatoes simmer into sauce. I’m tired, so very tired.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
Must be tiring, waiting for all that fruit to ferment.
Heck with it. Liquor store right down the street.
I’m in the mood for Steinbeck. Let’s all read “East of Eden” and talk about the teleological argument…