There are two watermelon sprouts growing out of a plastic cup on my kitchen windowsill, I rescued them from the compost heap I half-hazardly threw together last weekend following the planting of our new orange tree. I threw dog shit and an overly-ripened pineapple, mangoes deuse and a watermelon into a readymade ditch — dogs come in handy. I threw the remnant clay mud from our day-long dig on top of all this and took to it with my ax, I killed one mango pit, but this led me to realize the value of the one which was still intact. Eva said I should research composting — I respond with a maybe later, silently assuming that nature will do what it has always done. Despite the dog shit my heap smells like a pina-colada. I visit two days later and find about a hundred watermelon sprouts, I momentarily reconsider researching compost as I impulsively dig two sprouts out of the nutrient rich earth. There is minimal guilt as I chop and redistribute the decaying rinds amidst the struggling sprouts with the blade of my shovel. The two luckiest sprouts are growing tall and intertwining themselves in my kitchen, I sprinkle water upon them with my fingertips as I wash dishes and cook breakfast. I visited about 75 sprouts today; Darwin was correct. The mango pit germinates beneath dark soil in an old water cooler base recycled into a planter.
Time tells me that raccoon’s love pits.