The smell of the earth filled his nostrils, but not the dirt of home, but a rotting smell more like the compost pile his mother kept and spread on her...garden. He was hot, the air was hot and almost seemed full of steam. His mother’s garden was small, but he loved helping her, and loved the vegetables she grew, and the juicy sweet cherry tomatoes. In the fall she would take a cutting and put it in a jar, placed near the big south facing picture window. There was a heat register under the window. My feelings of attraction and desire became so intense I started reaching out to others for advice. How do I stop this? That was my plea. I knew to give in to the desires would mean great pain for someone else that I loved. Nobody had an answer. And, in the midst of this search for a way to let go of this profound attraction, I also wrote a poem for her as a valentine’s day gift. "In myself, there is you," I wrote... At the end of February, I took a trip to do a moving chore with this. More

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