The exercise:
Write a four line poem about: desolation.
Nothing to do with the market. Completely to do with being smoked in, yet again. The main culprit this time appears to be a wildfire south of the border. Well, that and the wind that has carried its smoke into our section of the valley.
Either way, it is very creepy and surreal and post-apocalyptic out there.
Market went pretty well. Sold 18 of the 20 bunches of carrots, 9 of the crates of Gala apples, all of the corn, Macintosh, Honey Crisp, nectarines, peaches, zucchini, and pickling cukes, and a good chunk of everything else I brought.
I had to borrow one of the vendors next door in order to get a bathroom break, and then a friend stopped by just in time for me to run and get lunch. So... it worked out, but I'm thinking I might need to arrange at least a little bit of planned help for next week.
Mine:
All around us
Is a towering wall of grey.
We need to run...
But how do we find a way?
2 comments:
You definitely need some rain. Or more lakes in the area. Or maybe less flammable vegetation... have you considered perhaps astroturfing a 30 mile radius centred on your farm? Perhaps with under-turf heating so that you can quickly melt snow in winter too :) At least the market went well despite the ongoing burning issues!
Heh, I like that point. Short, to the point, and just a hint as desolate as the prompt!
Desolation
For days now there's been nothing but cremation,
Beyond the piles of ash there's just desolation
Bone fragments decorate the land from ways away,
Vraiment, bro, je suis désolé.
Greg - I suspect rain was the easiest option. Just had to wait for it, which was not ideal.
Oh my, consider me very impressed that you tossed in some french at the end there. The tie in to the prompt is a bonus in my eyes. Very nicely done!
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