The brightest tomatoes
are lined up on the windowsill
ready for parboiling, and
putting up into Mason jars.
A raincoat drips in the hallway
while steam gathers in the kitchen.
The children are hollering
and running through the house,
while the woman’s elbows bend
to the quiet rhythm of her work.
The frogs at dusk groan deeply
this time of the year. They discuss
the mystery of winter mud,
and the slow approach of renewal.