In the Garden - Vicki Rubini

First day of summer. I jiggle hard the door, then duck my head under the cob-webbed eaves to enter the garden. Foxgloves push through the ivy, aspiring to heights unseen, banner flags of blue and yellow above brown snails sneaking along in old primroses.

I get out my pen and gather some fallen leaves as a cushion from the morning dew. The rusty watering can lies on its side. A yellow cactus cries for more sunshine. Wind -whipped roses have dropped red petals, but a few inner buds stay tightly intact. Cherry tomatoes are popping back up from seed explosions last fall when, unpicked, they burst. Already their little red bodies are seasoned with spicy pollen. Music in both major and minor keys comes from a song bird and a crow performing on their airy stage, all at once.

Back to that pen. Yes, I have paper as well. The last entry was six months ago.

I plop a tomato in my mouth, and drip some juice. Then I start my scribbling…..