growth - harvesting - enough

the dark earth of the farm

was wet thick wild

and heaved

tangled treasure of green vine

and yellowed decomposing leaves

and pumpkin flesh

and it all felt like

miracle. The stubborn knobbly heads of brussel sprouts crowded close

on woody stems

and there was no need for

profound words or

nuance only silence and

the still free drips of

cool autumn rain

because

life, presenting itself

close bare and

abundant,

had filled us with

enough.

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