In June, she was a vision.
Straight, even rows of tiny, green shoots reaching toward the sun.
In July, she blossomed from summer rains. A familiar anticipation began to set in.
Then came August, and she was ripe with bounty.
Now, the fruits of our labor realized, we both rest.
Susan Gale Wickes is a writer, and a first-time gardener, from Indiana.
From: 50-Word Stories