Curving

“Are you ready?”

The Bohemian is smiling down and cooing at fresh vegetable starts. Kale, parsley and basil, all sprouted from seed are about to go in the ground.

We’ve been elbow deep in soil and horse manure, turning over garden beds with our forearms. We’ve pulled weeds, separated stones and shaped a home with our palms. The beds prepped, the spaces plotted, the next step is planting.

Like everything else with this man so far, the garden work is easy. Smooth and intuitive. Pleasant, actually.

We pat the new plants into place while he whistles low and happy. His hands move deliberately, carving out spaces with care. Occasionally he’ll shower them with a carbon dioxide prayer, lulling softly, “beautiful garden.” I think I saw the parsley lift its leaves and curve toward him. Because he’s like that, you know. Be it plants or animals, they rise up basking in his presence.

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved

People, too, it’s true.

But before one can pin him to the ethereal realms of St. Francis of the plant and animal kingdom, he turns downright practical. Opens a bag full of tools and dismantles the faulty deadbolt on my front door. Locking mechanisms are removed, oiled well, tightened or loosened, rearranged…I don’t’ know what he does. Something. What I do know is that when he’s done with the screwdriver and his Rubik’s cube-like, dexterous manipulations, my lock and key move with unprecedented ease.

Even Jeb notices. “Hey, I can unlock the door myself now!”

Back in the garden beds, we saved room for more planting. He’s set on growing garlic even though he’s heard it’s hard. I tell him he can have a space here to give it a try.

Then our imaginations outgrow the present boxes. He’s already building another raised bed in his mind, tracing its size with his finger, mid-air, doubling what we have. We rattle off the list of food we’d like to plant there.

I suggest some marigolds. Ahh…I’d really like arugula too. He’s smiling. He knows where I bask. Just nods his head and breathes a little prayer my way, grinning.

“Yes, Jess.”

I can’t help it. I’m smiling too.

Curve a little closer.

A Thousand Words

I’m notified that the final manuscript has been compiled and “unfortunately, the committee did not select your submission.”

I’ve written about this submission process before. The experience of offering up my writing for publication outside these Archive realms. How I can turn “rejection letters” into confirmations that I’m on the writer’s path. These “best of luck” responses are merely markers on the trail that prove I am writing…and submitting.

So this most recent “thank you, but no thank you” communication arrives yesterday. But there’s a twist in this submission plot. A slight re-write of the script.

They want my photos. All of what I sent.

Not only was this anthology seeking writing, they were also asking for photographs. After combing through every comma of my written pieces, I casually changed color photos to black and white to fit their format. Gave them each a simple name and attached them to my emailed submission. They were like the garnish on the plate of the entrée. A side note.

I guess they liked them. Or with all of these writers sending in their words, they were short on images and needed anything they could get. It really doesn’t matter why. I’m honored to be included in this publication, in whatever medium my artistic expression is received.

So the storyline has shifted. Submission accepted. This is new. And curious, as the pieces received were not quite what I had envisioned. Whoever is writing this script, I like the surprise tactic. An intriguing plot. You might say they’ve got me.

As I’ve been contemplating the measure of words – how much, how little – this small nod to the power of the photo gets my attention.

Perhaps I’ll stop the alphabet here. You know what they say a picture’s worth.

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved
Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved
Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved
Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved