Piled in the trug like discarded consonants with graceful copperplate curves. Lowercase c, l and r. Serifs like wiry earrings. I love the shadows created against the table as I draw them in dark blue ink. On my page, they become captive fingers from thieving hands, reaching for a knife.
Today, I picked enough runner beans to feed a small town. They took on slightly macabre features as I looked across the table at them in the fading gloom of another dark afternoon.