As a younger woman, to be famous was what I wanted. Now, it’s to grow vegetables.
In a cottage by the water, with a mop of graying mermaid hair, I shall write silly stories, tend my garden and talk to tomatoes.
A feral tabby will lounge on the porch, ignoring me, and never come inside because neither of us wants that, and then slip away at the darker stage of twilight to do whatever it is that wild cats do.
I’ll drink red wine from a mug and gaze at the moon and do it all again the next day.
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