An English In Kentucky


















Thursday August 2nd 2012    Tim Candler

    Excellent late rush of Bush Beans.  There's the leaning over, of course.  There are drips of sweat from the end of the nose.  Spectacles that fly when a person sneezes. There's a knee that grumbles, shooting pains in the left wing, and a back that might not have more than week left in it.  And there is a form of wild life amongst the Bush beans that can hop if he chooses to.  He lives under a block of wood that serves as an edge to the collection of Bush Beans which I am told are of Italian origin, Romano is one of their names.  Nor have I seen him this year in the Blue Lake Bush Beans, whose origin is with Asgrow, the seed making part of that devil Monsanto.  But probably, when the moon is high and the dew is ripe, the Garden Toad  wanders.

     Always difficult with Toads to know what they might be thinking.  And I believe that if I was a Toad I'd spend most of my time wondering when I would dry up and shrivel.  Become desiccated and flat and run down by the tire of a motor vehicle as though someone had ironed me.  I have seen two such grisly ends this year.  One in a parking area at my place of employment, the other on that part of the driveway, here at home, which is still mainly gravel.   Who knows what innocent dream led the car park Toad to so undignified an end, heading as he appeared to be toward a fulfillment center.  However, it's the dead Toad here at home, that seems to concern me more.

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