not-so-patiently waiting for spring now. i've ground to til…
not-so-patiently waiting for spring now. i've ground to till. nothing grew last year. July and August brought no relief. by September, the garden was full of thorny vines instead of ripe cucurbits. my fault on some level
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then, a Dark Winter? a dark year in the compulsory theater, exits walled off and barbed while the actors shuffled about behind a drawn curtain. "we can see you," an old man calls from the audience.
the shuffling and whispering stops for a moment. the silence is uncomfortable. the old man grunts. we all wait for a reply. none comes. we are confounded. we wait for spring