the end of summer

My daughter grew several different tomato plants from seeds, and they all came up — pear tomatoes, German striped, persimmon, purple, and others I can’t remember the names of. I have been in tomato heaven. I eat them like fruit.

It’s the end of summer now, and the last batch is ripening on the vine despite attacks from tomato horn worms.

I didn’t do the kind of gardening this year that I used to love to do. Too tired, I guess. It’s getting harder and harder to get down on and up from my knees. And, for some reason, a lot of the herbs and flowers I planted in the spring didn’t make it.

In my early married years, before I cultivated a green thumb, my husband used to joke that I killed even plastic plants. Maybe I’ve come full circle.

I am looking forward to autumn. It’s my favorite season. The weather suits me, as do the colors.

It is the end of summer, and I will miss sitting on the canopied swing in our front yard. It has become my favorite place to hang out.

It is the end of summer, and I wonder just how much longer my mother can go on.

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