For the dverse prompt.
She thought of the rows of beans and the scent of the bean flowers. She thought of the small window that looked west. “I think we can live there,” she said.
Tehanu, Ursula K. Le Guin
Lakes and islands, lake isle and burgeoning
bean rows busy with bees. Lake water laps,
and somewhere distant the ocean beats. Pink falls at
dusk, deepening to purple when the last bird falls silent.
Dreams wander this open field where no beans grow
but a vine in four rows between oak and elder.
Hope grows thick as beans with the scent of roses,
and a brook ripples with water clear as any lake.
Here is the place, the last place perhaps, where we will
root, and the last leaves falling will cover us in gold.