shit man I can’t even do titles right

I read a pair of literary essays, one responding to the other, and I felt sad and tired, tired of my sad life, a life all the sadder as I stood at the back watching my finer-dressed betters being smarter than I am. They played some game I couldn’t fully follow - I’ve had the offsides rule explained to me twice yet it just doesn’t stick, and when a push is and is not a yellow card might as well be controlled by the movement of the planets - and the pace they played at spun my head too. They looked so graceful, strong, effortless, young, fresh, rested, fit. It must be called the beautiful game in appreciation of the players. Maybe on the replay at a close watch I can start to understand the moves but I’m not sure I have the time, the kids will be up early in the morning, and I know forsure I could never get on the field myself. Plus, that uniform? On this body? I see now that I never could have been a contender.

So not for me that sporting world. I work to settle for amateur naturalism at our end of the block - my neighbor who laughed when my kids found a snake, then caught it and pointed out the markings indicating it was a plains and not common garter snake, and smiled while the kids told him how the ants in the backyard ate a log; my other neighbor dropping off bright yellow edible mushrooms he foraged in the park by the river, suggesting adding them to quesadillas; my other other neighbor and I fumbling through my limited Spanish and her limited English to swap suggestions of what to next plant, maybe, after we get through the coming winter.

If God had let me choose a life I’d have picked the one where I dazzle and stun on the page like the young literary athletes I felt so tired to watch, but the most you really get to choose is deciding to want what you’ve actually got. So I try to be content with ideas like a chain link fence, a serviceable trellis if there’s enough twine on hand. The produce is split, lumpy, in need of a wash, too little for months then too much for days, but it’s a conversation starter around here, and chopped fine with a drizzle of oil and served on top of whatever you’ve got in the fridge it can lighten the afternoon. Of course, no one can live on such a small harvest as that.