Things going down in the life of this corn. Planted in May. Time renders everything a mortality meditation. W.H. Rehnquist, a couple of hundred soldiers. New Orleans under water, dead patients in hospital. One Candidate out with a fractured pelvis, the other daughter signing up.
Yes yes, life in its glorious color, starts out green, goes to gray. Now different than the longest day, waiting for the reaper.
Where are they now? The corn trio, the valiant plants on the edge.
The edge was good at the beginning, more sunlight. The edge is later not such a good thing. The plants on the perimeter are the first to get fall prey to deer and racoons, first to be harvested.
The edge is risky; ask New York, ask New Orleans ask San Francisco.