Much of my library work these days is talking and listening. Hey, how’s it going? What’s happening? When I listen a little longer, I hear stories of ordinary lives in upheaval — families separated, folks trying to figure out some kind of future.
I hand out books — mostly fiction and mysteries. And I often step outside the library where we keep talking and talking. From the school’s vegetable garden beds, I pick cucumbers and send patrons home with pickle fixings.
That’s about all I have to offer; that little will have to suffice.
In my own garden, the zinnias have gone brushy and wild, brilliant pink. Radishes have flowered and gone to seed. Late afternoons, I wander, barefoot on the cold soil, taking in the colors, breathing the spicy scent of arugula.
Before long, frost will be nipping at my garden, but for now, the pollinators are hungry, the crickets are singing, and these ragged-petaled flowers are nothing short of miraculous.
7 thoughts on “Little Gifts”
What you are offering is bountiful, and then there are the cucumbers…
Right now, there are, indeed, the cucumbers….
I think our hummingbirds have already fled, perchance because of the drought. You speak poignantly, in few words, of the rest.
The drought very well could be a factor. Interesting observation!
Bright and cheery colors.
I’m loving the garden in its final, colorful weeks. 🙂 Thanks for reading!