In August the lightest green comes out on pruned branches of the plum tree. Soft green so soft it’s almost white. Is there a word? Sorbet. Celery. Lime. Soon white blossom bursts on wood, supernovas in our astronomy, microdot starbursts, how every form has a purpose. Tiny frills of parsley are transplanted into mud, little chard shoots of crimson and green are popped in divots for rain, rhubarb leaves thin as a cuticle go into the soil for spring. Chamomile fragments spry and jagged are ready, once ground is prepared. Gardening, our fingers get little red cuts, black under nails.