“Faster!” kids squeal as they bound down the garden path.
Their joy echoes through the empty air.
The wait is finally over.
Crispy brown crunches under little gardener feet.
First dirty hands and oval seeds.
Then golden fragile flowers.
Soon enough the summer sun coaxes out bashful squash.
But now the beds are overrun with
glorious garden giants!
Burnt orange to ghoulish green.
Leathery,
lumpy,
bumpy.
Loose leaves swirl in airborne somersaults,
gathering in corners,
and conspiring against the cold.
“Hooray!”
The gleeful gardeners begin their inspection.
Meticulous and haphazard.
Knocking,
rubbing,
rolling,
lifting.
“Careful of the stem!”
Cornstalks whistle in approval and rustle their applause.
Sunflowers droop, hungry for a closer view.
Wagons fill.
Atlantic Giant, Fairytale,
Casper,
Pie.
Each hollow canvas full of possibility.
Finally,
with selections carefully made,
it is time to leave.
Faces smudged and dirty,
tired and content.
Parents groan under the weight of pumpkin plenty.
The garden grows quiet.
The sun sinks into a bed of orange and pink.
Light and warmth lose their hold on the land.
And the garden waits for the dirty hands and oval seeds of spring.