A life apart, separated into segmented moments.
Plants literally scream at me: I’m dying of thirst; the sun is too hot.
I respond with the garden hose in hand walking among my December-Planted collards. I was fooled into thinking they could survive without me, that they could subsist off the land.
But seeing them drooped, sulking, sullenly aloof- tore at me. If I did nothing, they would die.
We take rain for granted, when it comes we complain; not me, I cherish the rain. It makes my job as a gardener easier.