the fruit is rusting on the vine...

Coming home to sleep on the couch with the cat on my stomach and doominess in the CD player, walking down to the garden, which yielded three pods of okra, some beans, and a handful of radishes. I'm hoping next year will be better for the squash and that the mold that has beset the vines won't take my pumpkins and melons too.It all goes so fast each time.

It seems that all around me everyone's being sucked dry, and five years into banker's hours I have yet to feel it, maybe there's enough right now to keep me sane, enough laughter and coffee with a handful of kindred souls as an antidote to the slow toxicity. I don't have all the answers, but maybe that's just fine.