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Day Eight: What's Another Word for Feckless by honeygloom
Daunting, that’s the only word that really comes to mind. The prospect of another twenty-two days is nothing but daunting. Last night I picked the red heart of the little tomato, so I don’t even have that as a conceit anymore. The little one is leaning, its pot on a slight incline of dirt (yes, they are in pots on dirt)… Its flowers? Are those interesting? I grasp one between two fingers and gently examine it. The sepals, little green leaves, this flower has three, make the outer whorl. Then petals, like a bright yellow pentagram, there are five of them and they are the inner whorl. The stamen, at the center, looks like tiny banana… this is going nowhere. The good stuff is inside the stamen, for the sake of balance I should at least say that. A black beetle with a red design on its back that reminds me of the Union Jack buzzes by my head and lands on the house, and a serphid fly (I don’t know which kind), considers the flowers. They will give him nothing as they are self fertilizing… hopefully tomorrow is better.
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