T.

Into gardening again, finally, after a four year hiatus.

Anxious about the sunflowers and the Cinderella pumpkins

I planted, certain that the family of five thieving squirrels

that inhabit my yard will sniff them out. Barely a square inch

of space for pumpkins, so I intend to let them tumble out

over the cracked concrete patio. The grapes are in bloom,

in multitudes. The kiwi that succumbed to some kind of

inner-stem rot last summer is now more vigorous than ever

with its red-furred branches and tendrils. And the useless apples

with their apple maggots. I refuse poison. Ornamental apples,

I guess. Perhaps not entirely useless. Beautiful Apples.

Four years ago I would have known the latin name

of almost every plant in the garden, but so much has

exited my brain and feels lost forever. The brain-haze

which for a long time seemed would never clear

has finally burned off. Clarity of thought is an extraordinary gift,

one which I shall never again take for granted.