Jakey never understood the atrocities that grew in his mother's
garden. Nor did he understand his strange fascination with watching
the bugs burn in the light outside. The fact that his mother planted
only during the full moon meant only to him that she didn't like
the sun or was avoiding the black flies and mosquitoes. He never
once questioned how food was put on the table.
The sharp crackle of electricity
woke Jake from a dream. The spiders had been after him again.
Coming to wrap him in silken fibers and suck out his blood. The
stench of burnt insect carcass floated in through the window screen.
He stood for a moment, drenched in sweat and moonlight. Cautiously
he peered around the small bedroom, with a curtain for a door.
The corners were empty, the shadows were still, and the spiders
weren't there.
Soft humming filtered in through
the mesh screen. Jake rushed to the small window to see his mother
in the garden again. She reached her gloved hand into the leather
pouch at her hip then sprayed the ground with the seeds, retraced
her steps, then covered them in soil. She took great care and
patted them under, then dragged the hose over to spray them. His
mother always took care of the gardens. They were their livelihood.
Jake watched while his mother walked
between the rows, deftly plucked out weeds and cast them into
the surrounding high grasses. The purple glow of the crackling
light again drew his attention away. He stared intently as a beetle
came to a fiery end. The flaming remains plummeted the few feet
to the circle of stones around the post. Jakey inhaled and captured
the smell of burnt wings and sizzled hairy legs.
Not even the full moon could drag
his gaze away. When the great shadow spread across the yard and
covered the bug-light in shadows, Jakey broke his gaze away. The
moon was black. Even his mother had stopped her duties to look
at the skies. The stars seemed more brilliant than usual.
He stared as the shadows seemed
to dance and flow around her like a stream. She lowered her head
to the ground, patted down the last mound of dirt and headed back
inside. Jake saw the entire garden, all the pinwheels that sounded
like an army of roaches running across a stone driveway when the
wind hit just right. But in back of the pinwheels was something
he'd never noticed before.
Next
Page> Harvest Time 2
Harvet Time © 2004
Scott T. Goudsward
Illustrations ©
2004 Pam Marin-Kingsley
