The rasberries were sweet on my tongue, the few that my plant finally produced this year after growing but not flowering for three years. I pulled the pumpkins out from the yellowing vines, their orange color breaking against my eyes. I love harvest time and preparing my ramshackle gardens for the winter. Someone called it "putting them to bed" a cozy, rather loving expression for the plants. Like I am tucking them in for the long winters night. I thought of that as I pulled the last batch of weeds and mulched around them. My moon flowers as I call them, or Datura are flowering so beautifully now. They open as evening comes unfurling in a spiral from their closed cones. I will hate to see the frost get them when it finally arrives. I made a batch of pesto, grinding up the fragrant oregano and tasting the slight bitter tang of it. Ah my deadline has come for my painting sooner then expected but I cannot rush into her, her showing must wait. Damn.