There is something calming about watching the slow progress of grapes drying to form raisins, especially when I am all flushed in the evening from a four-kilometre walk in weather still too hot to give serious credence to the coming of autumn. Both such activities form a useful adjunct to my too busy mind, and yet do not always provide sufficient balm.
Perhaps that is why I have kept the progress of my lone pumpkin a visual secret. You see, there is only one this year, despite the abundant spread of leaves and flowers, and despite the planting at the correct time according to local conventional wisdom going back generations.
Perhaps this is a curious form of delayed gratification; something nullified entirely by the daily picking of red tomatoes which, given their abundance, is set to continue for weeks and weeks.
In the meantime, I can daydream about what the next step on the raisin front should be.
©2018 Allison Wright
Note: This was a “five plus five” – five minutes’ writing followed by five minutes of fissling about.