The dream:
K and I were standing by the well, talking about the hives and whether planting buckwheat would untowardly affect the flavor of the honey. She ran a damp bandana around the tool she held, massaging dirt out of a groove, and said that if we only planted a little it would probably be fine, since we had three acres in here and could plant plenty to balance the flavor, letting the buckwheat provide a subtle earthy note. I handed her the bottle of tool oil and thought of petrichor. Water gurgled from the roof reservoir down the small waterfall on its way to the koi pond.
