The Invisible Middle

I love a beginning.

When everything still exists in possibility.
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The first seedlings.

The first blooms.

The first harvest.

But there’s a problem with beginnings.

They end.

When the peppers are barely ripening.

The snapdragons are still trying to reflush.

The cherry tomatoes are collapsing under their own weight.

Where not every day ends with the flower field at its peak.

Or a lesson.

Or something ripe.

It is just today.

And tomorrow.

And the next thing that needs doing.

No tidy ending.

No way to look back and understand what any of it was for.

I’m trying to let myself be in that kind of season.

After the beginning, but before the ending.

With the marigolds that need deadheading.

The kale that needs another week before harvesting.

The eggs that need collecting.

I'll do what I can today.

I'll do some more tomorrow.

There are rows of calendula to weed.

There are chickens to feed.

There is garlic to braid.

So I’ll start there.