u s e y o u r h a n d s

In February, I started Amish Paste tomatoes from seed. In May, I transplanted them into my organic garden boxes. Early this month, I nursed the crop through blossom end rot while slowly watching one perfect tomato slowly turn red. Today, I picked that tomato. All morning, I could taste that tomato, sliced atop a piece a toasted wheat bread slathered with Vegennaise and fresh cracked pepper.

This afternoon, Gus reached up, took this perfect tomato off the table, the tomato I have craved since planting that first seed five months ago, and bit the end off and dropped it on the floor.