In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
Done: plowed, planted, and mulched. Rain's coming in tonight. I've done my part.
Before starting I did (as always) stand and pray, poured a libation, and tilled the traditional plow-cake in with the first furrow. Being neighborly is one thing; letting the neighbors rule you another.
As I worked, the red-rose petals of the crab tree next to the garden fluttered down like confetti on the wind over me, the rototiller, and the ground.
O Earth, our Earth, be big with life;
O Earth, our Earth, be full of food.
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