Write four lines of prose that have something to do with: overflowing.
I scrounged up about two pints (maybe a pound and a half?) of strawberries this morning, to go along with a handful of raspberries. So, uh, not really enough to justify going to the farmers market tomorrow morning.
We're skipping this weekend, with the expectation that by next Saturday we will have more than enough berries to make the trip worth our while. We'll probably bring along any remaining tomato plants that still look good, but the berries will obviously be the focus.
In other news, Max got me out of bed at 5:15 this morning. There was no way he was making it through the day on that little sleep, so he had a mid-afternoon nap. As I'm typing this it is shortly before midnight and he is just now settling down for sleep.
This is why we usually don't let him have naps anymore.
She walks slowly through the market, the basket in her hand causing her to tilt dangerously to her right. It is as though her left foot is barely touching the ground when it is its turn to inch her onward. Apples, potatoes, onions, beets; they appear to be working together to try to tip her sideways.
Surely it is merely a matter of time before she falls... ah, never mind - a nudge from an absent-minded fellow shopper is all it took to correct the issue.