Papers that you might be carrying from your car to a building will just get whipped out of your hand by a fierce unknown gust, never to be seen again. Today, she plucked the cauliflowers and broccoli from her breast. She has her red leaf lettuces all neat in a row accepting gulps of precious, quenching, sprinkled water, her beverage of choice. Fat grass blades are really baby green onions standing strong against the bluster of the wind. The young dill looks like tiny, leafless, toothpick trees , leaning south, formidable spindles braced against the winds.
Radishes pop red radiance against the brown flesh of earth, plump and ready for picking.
John Steinbeck wrote in East of Eden, I think that the wind carried the soil from the Smith's place to the Jones place and then back again. And so it is. A constant, living body, our Mother Earth. In Steinbeck country, being one with nature is the only way to exist. It is a partnership with the elements and with the force that I call God.