I planted vegetables

I planted vegetables yesterday. Filled the soil with sheep shit and composted vegetables and fertiliser and soil conditioner. Worms wriggled amongst the rotting food scraps. Big and fat and well fed, their shit soon to become food for new plants.

I planted vegetables. Broccoli, beetroot, onions, and coriander. Mixed together to keep away those thick, fat, hairy caterpillars that know how to eat a seedling in an evening banquet. Evil, they are, evil. But later they turn into butterflies and look innocent.

I planted vegetables. But I'm yet to eat anything except a tiny leaf of baby spinach left behind by a hungry, hairy plant eating machine. So far I've fed snails and slugs and butterflies-in-waiting, but not myself. Water and sheep shit and time; then perhaps I'll feast.