Who was inwards the garden amongst me? Raccoons? Surely the raccoons wouldn't move too then bold equally to steal my corn piece I am standing merely a few feet from it. Rabbits? Rabbits wouldn't dare whisk past times on their agency to a delicious breakfast featuring cabbage from the garden, would they?
Who?
Who was inwards the garden amongst me?
Well, it turns out it was the broom corn, rustling inwards the breeze on a cool summertime morning. The rustling was non meant to scare me but to remind me that the broom corn was there. The broom corn told me amongst each rustle that presently their seeds volition ripen too birds volition wing inwards from everywhere to hang on for dearest life to those broom stalks piece eating those seeds.
The broom corn also rustled a reminder to hold off upward too come across how bluish too clear the skies are today.
And the broom corn rustled inwards whispers, telling me the secrets of the garden.
Yes, I am fluent inwards the rustling linguistic communication of broom corn.
The rustling also reminded me that I am never lone inwards my garden. There are raccoons too rabbits, bees too garden spiders. They aren't e'er in that place at the same fourth dimension I'm there, but they view my garden oft enough.
And in that place are memories inwards my garden.
When I croak out to my garden, the rustling broom corn reminds me I'm e'er accompanied past times memories of my Dad too his tomatoes. I hold off at my staked tomatoes too know he'd move pleased that I proceed to stake my tomatoes inwards a earth that wants to accept the slowly agency out too cage tomatoes.
My grandparents are there, too, reminding me that to harvest is to eat. Not picking is non an option, or at to the lowest degree it shouldn't move considered an option.
I'm never lone inwards my garden. The broom corn rustles, a rabbit darts away, a bee buzzes by, too behind me gardeners from the past times offering encouragement, advice, too reminders.
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