Field Harvest

I patrolled past the back steps toward the deep planter bordering the brick walkway. A dense rosemary bush had overtaken the border, its woody stalks rising like a miniature forest. Fresh field supplies beat standing idle on the patio pavers. I picked out a straight, resin-rich sprig, planted my boots firmly in the dark cedar mulch, and drew my dagger. With a firm, measured push against the fibrous stem, the branch severed cleanly with a quiet snap, releasing a sharp, fragrant scent into the morning air. I bound the green cutting with a strand of dry raffia and secured it to my belt. A practical harvest.