By Finley W.
In the spring, she stands akimbo at the palette-turned-planter. It is on the west side of the house where, in deep summer, the canopy of trees traps the sun before it reaches the seeds entombed in the planter’s dark earth.
Here, in the spring, she pours linseed oil on a paintbrush and brings it against the plywood. She brightens it that it will soak in and turn to amber the sun that now tumbles in waves to the box.
Let her do her magic, give this anointment, coax the seeds forward into spring.