Post-Apocalyptic Gardener


By tyreanmartinson

Summer is here. No matter how the world changes, the seasons cycle onward. True, some of them have become more or less extreme with all the global climate changes, but my cat still watches the birds from the deck, the raspberries still rise in the soil I’ve created for them, and I still sit in my rocking chair on the porch. I ignore the wastelands beyond the hills, although I see the smoke rising still. The Wasted Ones haven’t bothered me since I planted my bombs in the earth beyond my fields. They make good fertilizer for my thorn hedges.

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