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Here is my photograph and a story that came to me during supper this evening:
It’d been an exhausting week for me. Tilling up the land in front of the house. Choosing the vegetable and flower seeds. Arranging it all in my mind’s eye. Colors just so. I’d even been able to put my adolescent sons to work on the garden.
One evening, late in the week, after my husband Clyde had come home from work, I laid out a blanket under some oak trees at the edge of the clearing overlooking our home and the garden. Clyde had brought some wine and cheese and a loaf of my fresh homemade bread. We sat down and looked out onto the evenly tilled rows before us. Everything glowed golden.
“Clyde, honey?” I asked. “Don’t you think the boys did a good job on the scarecrows this year?”