Digging.

Stabbing at the hardpan soil like the madwoman I surely am, tears stream down my cheeks as I endure another episode of “what-am-I-doing-with-my-life”

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Volunteers.

My plant-knowledgeable neighbor texts to alert me to the hostile occupation happening in my front yard: “Those invasive elms are noxious,” she says.

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Blemished.

The heirloom tomatoes always draw me in. The other produce in the grocery store all seems too perfect, like airbrushed models on

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Chopped.

Chopping, chopping, chopping, I get so tired of chopping vegetables that somedays I fantasize about walking out the kitchen door and never looking

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  © Cheryl Leutjen