The orange pumpkins themselves have seen better days, but still I offer my heart to what’s left of the pumpkins carved out by squirrels. I offer my whole heart to the thick, pulpy flesh that fattens the chipmunks before their time of hunger. I stand at my window and watch a fly blunder into their artwork, and I watch the spider dart to the fly. Come April, I will stand at this window and watch her gathering spider silk to weave her miniature nest of thistledown and lichen and moss. My heart lifts at the pinprick holes in the passionflower vines and the pinprick holes in the parsley, but I wait and wait for the pinprick holes in the milkweed leaves.

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Persons: what’s, honeyvine Organizations: Central Locations: Central America, Tennessee