I come to my garden, expectantly. Opening the rusty gate with my basket I know you are waiting for me. I will not be disappointed. I have watched over you many weeks. As an anxious bridegroom tends his bride, I have vanquished the malevolent hornworm that would rob you of you precious
nutrients. I have searched for them high and low and plucked them and rescued you.
Too many times you have tried to reach beyond you limits, not knowing that to do so would result in less fruit, so I have pruned back your
overgrowth. Even then you yielded up a sweet intoxicating fragrance known only to tomato gardeners staining my hands
emerald. Forgive me.
Today however you have offered up your sweet fruits as only you know how. I feel as if I am on sacred ground. The air is filled with a natural energy as bees fly from flower to flower doing what they where created to do. A warm breeze caresses my cheek while I begin the task of harvesting first fruits. For you give yourself to me completely. Warm, heavy, and round. I reach down with a corner of my shirttail and wipe a bit of dust from you and bite into you as I stand there. Your juice runs down my chin; it is sweet, full of life, and sunlight. There are others waiting. Some firm and small like a young girl’s breast.
I take these too knowing they are ready.
No wonder the tomato was forbidden by the Puritans. It truly is the love fruit.
Tags: Gardening, Hornworns, Love, Puritans, Sex, Tomatoes, Veggies
June 2, 2011 at 8:26 pm |
I have always enjoyed eating tomatoes just as they are. And the ones from your own garden? To die for!
June 2, 2011 at 11:12 pm |
Thanks Colline! I have enjoyed growing them so much and I’m getting a reputation for being “the tomato lady!”