Foraging Pluck purslane and plantain for salad, shred it small so it slides by skeptics, know you’re kneeling in Eden even if your rural township is loud with campaign signs, target shooting, giant crop spraying tractors. Focus on birdsong, nod at mallow flowers, breathe in milkweed’s perfume. It might be cottagecore if you wore a pinafore replete with harvesting pockets, if you carried a handwoven basket, if blackberry thorns didn’t snag your skin, if your fingernails weren’t lined with soil....
