Farmers Market

What is wrong with me? The Farmers Market opens at the beginning of May, and I just made my first trip of the year, two and a half months later. I have missed the asparagus and the spring spinach, of course. The market is now full of swiss chard, collard greens, huge green heaps of kale, huge red heaps of tomatoes, yellow zucchini as large as my forearm, cucumbers...

I got bread with asiago cheese baked into it, swiss chard, small zucchinis and a mixed bouquet heavy on the zinnias.

And one sunflower. I love sunflowers, but they make Patrick's allergies flare up. One should be okay.

And now, free of extra charge, William Blake's great sunflower poem:

Ah, Sunflower! weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun,
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traveller’s journey is done;

Where the youth pined away with desire
And the pale virgin shrouded in snow
Arise from their graves, and aspire
Where my Sunflower wishes to go.