We lined up for peaches and corn under cool, milky skies over the Fort Atkinson farmer’s market.  Farmer Peggy and I agreed a little wistfully that the lisianthus have almost run their course, overtaken by sunflowers and other late-summer heroes. The overcast light lingered into today, clouds on the brink of rain that never gained enough momentum to actually fall.  The house cooled off at last, welcoming every morsel of breeze that could find an open window.

I’m happy because I rearranged some furniture and washed the kitchen floor – and for dinner had the best tomatoes I’ve maybe ever eaten.  Oh, and the corn, full of butter and salt.  Think about that for a minute, why don’t ya?

I can’t rush anymore, towards whatever ambition was racing through me like fire through paper.  Even the flowers take their time, making and unmaking, considering and consenting.  Maybe I will find a picture, maybe I won’t.  It’s only the pleasure I want now – the time spent seeing what happens.  I don’t know if anyone else will ever see what I see.

Can you believe I get to cut and arrange flowers in a vase and take a picture of them – every week?  How did I get so lucky?