The Swell Season

There is a local farmer's market near me. It starts in the summer when it's full of hot sun and fresh fruit. But now it's full of cool mornings and harvest vegetables. I went by myself over the weekend to observe the last market of the year. Because regardless of the particular spoils, there is so much to see and touch.

I looked quite a bit at the different shapes and sizes of squash and gourds. I like a group of pumpkins sitting up straight, occasionally lean this way or that way. I like the twisty-turvey necks of squash and their many colors and patterns. I like when I find witch-like warts or smooth, dull surfaces.

I tasted all of the sweets I could find (brownies, especially) and the last of the season's fruits. I got a bear full of honey to go with the fresh scones Algernon makes on Sunday mornings.

I listened to musicians, some playing loud music and some playing quiet music. I remembered that I tried the accordion once (though it proved unsuccessful without fingers). This musician —Keith Lewis — has proved it very successful (and I'm sure the fingers help).

I smelled the fresh flowers taking in deep breaths of their rich autumn scents. I left with two bunches to give to Penny and Yvette.

I noticed the colorful leaves above me and the friendly beasts below me and decided I will miss the farmer's market through the winter. But it will be back. And in the meantime, there will be holidays and sledding and snow. I like all the seasons in their time.

I'm going to eat a carrot.

You should eat a carrot, too.

-rfb

I