Just now we've returned from Pennsylvania. Something tells me it's north of here, but the closest I've ever come to understanding Pennsylvania is on the Monopoly board. Green was my favorite color, and I always mortgaged, begged, bartered and stole from the free parking in order to get all three green properties. The problem with the greens is that you can't ever build anything on them by the time you've got them. Houses cost nearly as much as they do on Boardwalk and everyone is always landing in between the greens on community chest or heading to jail instead.
In the morning, I'll be headed back to work. The weekend is always ending just when it's really getting started. What if I told you someone once told me the same thing about life, bending over a game of chess, his king nearly in checkmate, the smell of honeysuckle on the breeze.
Just now I've bought a thornless Natchez bush from some online vendor. I'm a terrible gardener because I always want the plants to flourish without care. I water them on occasion and imagine the rich succulent fruit that will be spilling off their branches in late spring. By late spring most of the things I've planted are dead, dry brown leaves and root systems shriveled with neglect. I'm a libertarian when it comes to plants, and I explain this to them as I pat the soil around them. "Look, here," I say. "This is as close as the two of us are going to get." I read somewhere that if you talk to plants they are more likely to bear fruit. I rub the small green leaves between my thumb and fore finger like the long blond hair of some distant love. "Listen," I say. "Come late spring if you do everything right, we're going to have a celebration."
The plants, like people, never listen too closely. They are always too busy going about the rather simple process of dying. Next year things are going to be different. I'm going to plant the blackberries early, allow their roots to dig down deep, gripping the soil like a sculpture cleaving to the stone from which it was formed. Next year I'm going to learn to hammer nails, and buy wood at Home Depot in the right quantities. I'm going to build a screened in porch, and while the mosquitoes bump frantically against the screen, we'll sit on soft cushioned couches, eating blackberries and drinking wine while the evening chases the heat of the day.
In the morning, I'll be headed back to work. The weekend is always ending just when it's really getting started. What if I told you someone once told me the same thing about life, bending over a game of chess, his king nearly in checkmate, the smell of honeysuckle on the breeze.
Just now I've bought a thornless Natchez bush from some online vendor. I'm a terrible gardener because I always want the plants to flourish without care. I water them on occasion and imagine the rich succulent fruit that will be spilling off their branches in late spring. By late spring most of the things I've planted are dead, dry brown leaves and root systems shriveled with neglect. I'm a libertarian when it comes to plants, and I explain this to them as I pat the soil around them. "Look, here," I say. "This is as close as the two of us are going to get." I read somewhere that if you talk to plants they are more likely to bear fruit. I rub the small green leaves between my thumb and fore finger like the long blond hair of some distant love. "Listen," I say. "Come late spring if you do everything right, we're going to have a celebration."
The plants, like people, never listen too closely. They are always too busy going about the rather simple process of dying. Next year things are going to be different. I'm going to plant the blackberries early, allow their roots to dig down deep, gripping the soil like a sculpture cleaving to the stone from which it was formed. Next year I'm going to learn to hammer nails, and buy wood at Home Depot in the right quantities. I'm going to build a screened in porch, and while the mosquitoes bump frantically against the screen, we'll sit on soft cushioned couches, eating blackberries and drinking wine while the evening chases the heat of the day.
i have never experienced losing at monopoly..also green is my favorite color
ReplyDeletei have a green thumb but then it never snows in california and temperature is above 32 ..99% of the time
if you build a screened in porch, there will be no room for your plants and fruit bearing trees!!
No room for the plants is the point of the screened porch, yes?
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