The sun was a ghostly eye in the sky, obscured by an armada of gray clouds. She sidestepped several vegetable and herb flats as she crossed the porch to join Mamaw and Lucille playing cards in their usual spot under the awning. The awning was rattling in the gusts of wind. She took a seat at the table beside Carson, who was reading the Island Eye. “Good morning,” she called out as she approached. “Storm’s coming.” The women looked up and greeted her warmly. “You were up and out early,” Mamaw said. “I hope I didn’t wake you.” “Lord, no,” Mamaw said. “At my age one never sleeps well. Harper woke up just minutes after you left.” Mamaw looked out to the garden. “Dear girl made coffee, fueled up, and went straight to work on planting those flower beds.” She sipped her tea, watching, then as she lowered her cup said, “I swanny, look at that girl lift those bags of soil. They must weigh as much as she does.” Looking out to the backyard, Dora saw Harper lifting enormous bags of compost and dumping the contents into two new raised garden beds.
