Humor

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My Garden called out to me last week. It is mid February and the soil outside my window , she wanted to converse.

My Garden said not to look at the stark nakedness of her present condition but to remember the lush green foliage of spring. To remember the awesome large fruit in the neat straight rows of summer. She said to look at her rich dark substance.

Of course my Garden is good at half truths because she failed to mention the rocks she keeps vomiting up, or the weeds that pop up in the scorching June sun. Neither did she say anything about the way she abuses me with dirt under my nails or that ache in my back.

You know, I built my Garden a fence and she doesn't appreciate it because her cucumber vines keep trying to get out and explore the yard. She certainly has no respect for the beautiful straight rows I dig in the morning. She has moved them by the afternoon.

As a matter of fact my Garden is a liar, because I remember those molded marble tomatoes last year and that darned rabbit she keeps inviting over for dinner.

My Garden and I are not speaking this week.

Of course by spring we will be friends again. I don't hold grudges long.

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