Just as I finished my breakfast, the sun broke through a bundle of cotton clouds. Rays skipped across a ribbon of mountains, and poured lemon juice on my kitchen.
Something clicked in my kitchen. It wasn't the clock on my stove. "Oh, no! Something's torn up again," I moaned.
I noticed the little solar-powered flowers on the windowsill waving their hands. Click. Click. Click. The daisies were dancing a jig in the sunshine.
I smiled and thought it would be a good day. I heard a mower humming. I glanced out the window and our neighbor pulled into the drive.
Mr. Wimpey asked if we needed any fresh vegetables:
Tomatoes red as rubies,
the aroma of hot peppers,
visions of fried okra!
"Oh, yes! We would love some vegetables," I said. I was grateful that our neighbors had thought of us and had graciously shared their garden produce with us.
Until recently, Mama raised a garden every year. She enjoyed sharing her vegetables with family and friends.
As she said, "There's nothing like stepping out your back door and picking fresh vegetables from the garden.
Thanks to our good neighbors, we can still savor fresh, mountain-grown vegetables straight from the garden.
I had a feeling it would be a good day, and it was a great day!
