Poetry Sunday

My garden is winding down for the year, exhausted by the continuing alternations between heavy rain and blistering heat. The take so far is: three nice spaghetti squash (all of them from volunteer plants that apparently grew from seeds that came across from my compost pile); five large yellow squash; three acorn squash (two of them volunteers); and a huge number of jalapeño peppers. My tomato plants produced practically nothing, and I got zilch from my zucchini and cantaloupe plants. The herbs are doing much better - we're up to our earlobes in thyme, basil, dill, mint, chives, rosemary, and sage.

On that note, here's a poem by Anne Higgins about the joys of eating tomatoes from one's own garden in the August heat ...

Cherry Tomatoes 

by Anne Higgins 

Suddenly it is August again, so hot,
breathless heat.
I sit on the ground
in the garden of Carmel,
picking ripe cherry tomatoes
and eating them.
They are so ripe that the skin is split,
so warm and sweet
from the attentions of the sun,
the juice bursts in my mouth,
an ecstatic taste,
and I feel that I am in the mouth of summer,
sloshing in the saliva of August.
Hummingbirds halo me there,
in the great green silence,
and my own bursting heart
splits me with life.


Have a good day, and enjoy the rest of your weekend. More thoughts coming.

Bilbo