Whipping the garden into shape has been a full-time job for Brendan and me these last few days; weeding, planting, mulching, weeding, weeding, weeding, researching, strategizing, weeding, planting, taking hydrating breaks... and it's been HOT.  and HUMID.  We both got our first farming sunburns yesterday.  We had intended to take the day off, but it rained overnight and we wanted to take advantage of the easy weeding with moist soil, so... we worked all day.  We had to find some inside work around noon, though--it was just TOO HOT to be doing hard work outside. 

The garden is clearly seeping deep into my subconcious; as I've been sleeping, I've had the strange sensation that I'm a vegetable.  I wrote a poem about it...

Garden Night

These days my sleep is vegetal,
soak through, heavy with
unborn fruit.  Tomorrow I weed
the potatoes and tonight's is potato
sleep, underground, heavy and close.
My arm loses feeling underneath me,
a blind root reaching down, and my
dreams nudge above the surface,
new, green things, seeking light.