The torrential rains have apparently stopped. The sun is out. And everyone — including those little black mosquitoes — thinks spring is here again. Still no sign of honeybees that have not been around all summer. But my lone, helpful little Bubblebee was there this morning, whom I have gotten to know very well, vigorously pollinating everything in sight. I forgive his breed for all those times they painfully stung me when I was going bar’foot as a child growing up in Nawf Calina.
The pepper plants are exploding. The egg plants have been producing at a phenomenal rate. [Are we into hyroponic agriculture? — they are in big plastic pots!] The goldenbrown legacy basil has taken on new life. Not the big tomatoes, but the the seed from the store-bought toma-toes are still producing for the nightly salad.
Even the phlox around the corner of the house believes it is time to go at it again. They haven’t heard the rabbi begin to intone his Torah lesson which says this is the time of the year when G___ makes his choices, who shall live, who shall die, who by drowning, who by fire, in the new year. For the moment, at least, I am sticking with the Indians and enjoying the last gulps of that wonderful summer, continued nightrains, possible hurricanes and all!