An old woman on the street grew tomatoes that were obscene. they were so red and so alive, it made you uncomfortable to look at them. everyone else had the same dirt, the same sun, the same rain, and their gardens were fine, but fine. hers were different, and nobody could explain it. she talked to the plants, which everyone laughed at, but she also did something else. she watched them before she did anything. she would stand there forever, then water or not water, prune or not prune. she let them tell her what they needed instead of deciding for them. and they grew the way children grow when you stop telling them what to be and just start paying attention to what they already are