I’m taking out the garbage, and I happen to glance at the withered raspberry patch. Wait a second! There’s another harvest!
What in the world!?
I recall back in 2010 when the same phenomenon happened with my peppers. I had put the garden to rest in my mind, but the garden had other thoughts.
But wait, ya’ll: We’ve had frost; we’ve had flurries; we’ve even had berries rotting. Those raspberries were done.
As I gather in the new berries, I think about harvesting words and November’s novel writing mission. I had given up on fiction, but fiction has other thoughts for me. It’s been a long time: story writing feels frosted over, rotting even, by now.
And yet! And yet!