18th August – Courgette Mountain

The trouble with swaps is that sometimes you get more than you bargain for. This morning I opened the door to a small mountain of courgettes, glistening from last night’s rain. No note, but I can almost hear Stanley’s voice muttering that his garden has turned feral. They sit now on the table like green torpedoes, each daring me to be inventive. Soup, fritters, cake?

I never knew a vegetable could carry such menace. And yet, there’s kindness in the pile too—somebody thinking of me. Even in their overabundance, courgettes seem a kind of gift.