harvest

i got some cosmo seeds in the mail the other day.  my dad's special lady friend sarah sent them to me; she loves cosmos.  every year she grows them in the arid city soil, in the parking strip flower bed. she waters them diligently until the spindly green branches reach upward upward upward, finally bursting into bright pink blooms of celebration .  then every fall, sarah carefully harvests the seed from those flowers, saves them in a bag for next year's crop.  i've only known sarah for a little while, but she's easy to love, with her gentle spirit and dedication to the simple beauties of life.  she works hard, too hard, giving every inch of herself to animals in a hectic bustling low-income veterinary clinic, barely even stopping for lunch.  after work, she still seems to find time to make a home, to love and nurture her family of three cats, three dogs, and my dad.  and for that, i am endlessly grateful.

today, my dad told me the story of last year's cosmos.  sarah had worked hard to collect those seeds and plant them out.  they were all raked into the soil and watered in.  but the dogs, bad dogs they can be, and when one gets a crazy idea they all go in on it together.  and so in a wild frenzy they ate them, those dogs at those seeds, all of them. tons of them.  sarah was devastated.  so my dad, the good sport he is, waited until the dogs shat them out, solid logs consisting of mostly seed.  he collected the skat and let it dry.  and from that poop, he harvested those seeds for sarah, so she could grow her cosmos again.  now that, my friends, is love.