pulling | tomatoes

when storms come little tomato plants develop resistance to wind and rain. pummeled sideways, the vines spread as the roots drive further, stronger. the fruit is sweeter because of it all. in the duration and distress of changing winds we root for ourselves.

always questioning where to tow the line. carrying the lamp and dripping the oil. a kiss. but the truth toils on, carried on the back of ants to your windowsill as you sleep.

where did you go after all these years? as the time melts the snow on the earth of our seasons. what has been done? not for the structures you serve, what have you done for yourself? as you watch from the middle heavens with a bleacher of history cheering you on. what have you done for yourself.

worn wool coats and pockets full of tired wares and buttons. the threads begin to come undone. a struggle so deeply riddled it’s become sewn into the fabric of our being. if not this, what else? but if this is all there is, what else is there?

into the sunset as the green flash hits the lens we focus inward. the shell is already broken upon the coral. this is the swan dive. the big bear in the sky winks down on us. time to have some fun. time to shake some structure. time to paint the picture. looking forward to the tomatoes that survived the storm and bore the most beautiful fruits. be blessed.