Picking Tomatoes in the Rain

Early morning gray:
soft as bunny fur
and cool on the skin.
Rain drops land like fairies on my shoulders,
their simple melody plays on my hood.

Wet feet.

Reach deep into the garden.
This is why we can see red from green from orange.
Ancient talent fills the colander;
I gather connections to Those Who Came Before.

Eat one.

First rain drops wet my lips,
Then smooth and round
and just a little warm,
it fills my mouth.

Press and press and POP!

Taste buds wake up, painful in their joy,
breaking their fast with the fruits of my labor:
flesh and jelly and seeds.

Not really labor.  Love.

Love and dark soil and sun and rain and
magic that has been called Goddess.
Goddess that has been called Mother.
Mother that we must remember.

We have just allowed time to pass.
We have just allowed things to grow.
We have just been, this life and I.

Born of time, one by one they slide sweetly into my belly.
Born of time, the timeless woman in my being sings.