may seventh

(left 'bee forest and smoke' from upcoming serie, jm) 2010

My bike climbs the early morning hill, the fences blacken the sun out, and at the top there's a cemetery on both sides. It seems that all the ride is leading up to this point, even though its only in the middle of the commute. On the way back, the wind shoves dust into my eyes, the trucks roar, and the pot holes depress more every day - its a sensory overload more enjoyable than it sounds. Apparently everybody's also been rushing home after work, looking fondly to the end of the day.

When I get back, I spot the old man squatting at his garden. I ask him about sharing the backyard. Yo quiero plantas y vegetales aqui. My spanish sucks. His name is George? Arturo? Cool y Gracias. He smiles at the gringo, and motions to a spot beyond the garbage and weeping mulberry. Once scraped through and cleaned up, the soil ain't too shabby - a good home for some rosemary, onions, eggplant and pumpkins, to start and catch up with Arturo's tomatoes, beans and herbs. Its doubtful most guests won't eat this food if they saw where it came from though. I am thankful to leave the majority of the calories to be cultivated by the pros.