On the edge of the path at Common Ground Farm, the gibbous milkweed pods spew the Milky Way dotted with dark stars; microbrew heads overflow their shapely pilsner glasses; making love we have split the sides of the old feather bed; fine white silk blows to the roadside, follicle and seed making their journey. Bluebird houses rest empty. Lavender wildflowers punch out of grass along the way. When we reach the old red barn, the faded chalkboard for the CSA says there is celeriac for all this week. Such a twisted, gnarled vegetable to be had among all this beauty.