New Series: micro-seasons

I lost a cabbage this summer. I left it too long in the field and let it dry on the stalk. When I saw it baking there in the summer sun, I dropped to my knees and cut deep into its folds with a Kelly green pocket knife. I guess I was hoping to find some living part. But no. It was delicate and brittle to the root… like cutting into stacks of crepe paper. A ripe cabbage has a mysterious energy. It feels alive because it is alive. We came here through The Garden. Anyway, I squandered the vegetable’s mysteries. I felt bad about it. I imagined my grandfather standing over me, his eyes shining like two black coals. He would have laughed. He would have shaken his head in mock disappointment. He would have forgiven me instantly like he forgave us all for everything. His love of mercy would have made me feel worse. I cursed under my breath and whispered a prayer of repentance.