The story so far:
As I expected, I paid the price for negligence. The tomatoes have done the most extraordinary thing and committed suicide. Both are toppled over, lying prostrate like the green odalisques they are. Were I in a rational state of mind (say, post coffee) I might surmise the stiff delta breeze had done them in. But I am not, and I say suicide attempt or supplication. And so, also pre-coffee (and in my pajamas) I dug holes for the pots. So now my tomatoes are in pots in holes in the ground. As I write I’m smiling to myself because it is wholly indicative of my life. Not well thought out, neglected, then hastily amended at the penultimate moment.