I stood on the porch with my coffee and watched them. All of them. Twenty-three cars’ worth of people moving quietly through the fog. Taking only what they needed. Leaving plenty for the next person.
Somewhere up on the hill behind St. Luke’s, there’s a headstone with a tomato on top of it.
SHE PASSED IT ON.
And she did.
And he did.
And now, so do we.
