Hidden among this most flamboyant of going away parties, an unobserved promise is being made. Seeds are quietly ripening. Tiny, large, round, mere slivers, hairy, smooth, each carrying with it the assurance that bright Spring will come. Some, like those of the wildlings in my back yard, cling tenaciously to anything that happens to brush against them. Others float lightly through the air on shimmering gossamer balloons. Yet others are brightly cased in food for various animals, ourselves included, a tasty reward for spreading their seeds far and wide.
|A Ripe Lemon Cucumber and Seeds|
What shall I leave behind?