Till, We Meet Again

Each year, I am most grateful when my tiller and I meet again to dance among the garden beds, and I am still able to lead, although at times I’m prone to plead, “Will you please start yourself instead?” For pulling back upon that string is not always an easy thing, and even worse, to lift the beast, to move it to adjacent bed while limiting expletives said, or muttering them low, at least. The task is done, the beds are tilled, and now I am quite simply thrilled to hand my wife the garden keys so she can plant from sprout or seed, and she can water, even weed or anything her heart does please.