Why Ron Axelrod comes to mind 30 years later is puzzling. [Okay, yeah, it's 31 years later.] Perhaps it's the time of year: school is wrapping up, the weather is nice, high school seniors are about ready to wet themselves in anticipation of just being done. Thirty years from now, they might just realize that they weren't really finishing something. Their high school graduation wasn't the climax. The rest of their lives wasn't the denouement.
All this as introduction to a poem wholly unrelated. My apologies, merci beaucoup.
from seed to plant to table.
Composting out back.
Truly less a straight plot line and more a circular one. The gardens we've planted will feed not only us but the compost as well, which, in turn, will feed the gardens. And so on and so on. But were the meal the climax of our gardening attempts, surely the denouement would be the
[Another circular, boring post brought to you by the maker of circular, boring posts. Now, go read some real poets at One Single Impression.]