Death.
All that is on my mind at this time of year is death. The grounds lie fallow. It is getting colder and darker and all that I can think about is death.
I thought that I might try to keep a little life in the garden growing by making a covering of wire and plastic to shelter a tiny little seeds. . . just warm enough for lettuce, a makeshift greenhouse. In fact I did try to get a last crop of lettuce in the raised bed where I had dug out all the potatoes. I finally had a blank canvass and I made neat little rows of red leaf and slow bolt heirloom lettuce. I saw some tiny sprouts, but a frost must have hit or maybe it was a squirrel. Still, there lies only dirt- no lettuce. The seeds dug into the ground died, but they did not return as plants.
So I look out upon my urban farm and all I see is death.
Symbolically, death represents a change. A change from this to that. . from a world I do know to a world I do not know. Change is neither good or bad on the surface. Change is the one constant in life you can be sure of. . as the song goes.
Yet, I miss the little green shoots. And this year, I think I really could use a little winter crop. Just little green shoots of hope that signal there is still a chance, still opportunity for something, anything living. Alive.
