Write four lines of prose about: the stone.
Pretty sure I picked berries for the last time this morning. I only got a pint of raspberries for the market, plus a partial mixed pint of raspberries and blackberries for us (well, Max, really). A little sad, but mostly happy to have that behind me now.
Other than that... cherry tomatoes, bigger tomatoes, zucchini, peppers, cucumbers, corn. Kat's parents got me Aurora apples and plums. I've got some Gala and Macintosh leftover from last weekend. That's about it, I think.
It's Labour Day long weekend here, so hopefully it'll be a busy market. Either way, I should get some sleep now.
Lurking in a dust-covered box at the back of an unused bookshelf, you could be forgiven for thinking it forgotten. It is not. Everyone in the village knows precisely where it is.
For it is the first stone, and one day it will be cast.