the taste of savory herb, snipped under imperial clouds of Prussian blue and flour white, had the greeness of the land on my tongue, between my teeth, stuck with the stubborn clinginess of moistened burgeononing plant, impossible to swallow. fat drops of rain hit the windscreen, hit our foreheads and shoulders, hit the dust of the ground in big damping nickle-sized clots all day long, but the sun persisted too - Prussian blue clouds, but not enough of them.
the daisies planted from seed are too crowded and need thinning so she drew a circle with the edge of a rock in the workable earth to mark a better space and began the work with a designing hand and eye.
Circles are the shape I like the most. They make sense
to me, she said. rain, big fat rain again.
I could have drawn a square, but I never would, she added.
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