The air is truly fresh,
and I am cold -- but I like it.
Tromped out to the rhubarb, flashlight in hand, braving the likely potential of finding slimey crawlies glistening in the moonlight.
Now, a bowl of sugar and stalks of blushing green rhubarb.
Sweet and tart and crunchy and
remembering hot afternoons on the concrete porch at my grandma's,
the very place this very rhubarb came from,
scratched knees beside my sister's,
face up to the sun.
We ate more sugar than rhubarb,