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.
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