I planted four tomato plants. Two of them are Creoles, and two are Better Boys. Before I bought them, I made sure the fuzzy leaves smelled like a tomato plant. (There was one variety whose scent I couldn't smell at all. That ruled it out.)

There's peace in the labor of the body. Shoveling the earth or walking to the bus stop; sweeping overnight debris from the doorstep or wiping down the car. The mind empties, and the circulation of oxygen throughout the body hastens. We lose some of our anxieties, and others are diminished. Sleep comes more swiftly, and we sleep more deeply.

The scent of leaves of a tomato vine warmed in the sunlight is sensual and bright. I'll rest better for having breathed their pungent earthiness. I'll dream of butterflies, and bees humming in the garden.