What happened to Childhood?
The growing season keeps getting shorter, from too much sun, too soon.
In my garden, young plants are protected.
The weeds are pulled.
The watering is steady.
It is my job to give them a chance
to grow into themselves.
I wear the gloves.
I pull the creepy crawlies from their young stems and toss them to the weeds.
This business of forced blooming is a dangerous one.
Despite the aesthetic appearance of maturity, full blossoms quickly fade.
We, the older folks, know this.
The garden, the children, need tending.
Every single day.