Peas, beats, collards in damp warm soil.
Indoor spinach early fall.
Winter’s lettuce, arugula, cilantro.
First there was a black president, then came a woman and a “radical” who may take the seat. It was too much for them, they had to March on Washington, to protest. A fragile, collected group of rich old men who grapple with their fleeting power. They are holding a sit in at the White House, but don’t worry, we are strong in numbers and in our hearts and they will give up (or die) soon enough.
The city wept when I left. It was physically symbiotic, proper and figurative, strange and cyclic, connecting and disconnected once again.
Not beautiful as in symmetrical, but beautiful as in boundless; unconfined.