Birds sing as
wind rustles trees.

I run soil through my hands, as
damp pieces clump together.

The trowel cuts through the soil,
creating crevices for the blossoming plants.

Seeds fall from my fingers into the holes,
disappearing under the soil.

Days and weeks pass, as
I wait.

…

One day from the window, I see a glimpse of red,
buried beneath the jungle of vegetable plants’ green leaves.

A red pepper hangs closely above the soil,
dangling, pulling the plant along with it.

Digging through the leaves, I find more colors:
a squash, tomato, and eggplant.

My lips grin upwards.
I grew my own food.

I pile the vegetables in my shirt and hands,
eager to bring them inside.

...

The birds still sing,
the wind still rustles trees.

The leaves turn red, orange, and yellow,
small, glistening crystals cover the plants.

And I wait for next year,
when the garden returns.