|My garden had succumbed to a weed takeover|
I shoved my fingers down into dark, warm soil. Wiggled them around and felt the life. Yanking on weeds I fought and reclaimed land for planting. Pumpkins, big and orange, were filling my mind when a fat body hopped, plop, in front of me. Stifling a little squeal, it quick became a chuckle as I leaned down to examine the fine fellow I had startled.
|The garden plot has been reclaimed|