Bonta mixes a short prose diary entry with two small haiku-like verses. In the prose, the speaker describes waiting for potatoes to sprout. He feared mice had eaten them, but a cold spring simply slowed the plants down, and the neighbors were right to urge patience. That small lesson spreads outward: waiting out the pandemic feels bearable because the garden gives him something living to watch. Time stops feeling like a "lifeless assembly line" and becomes something that unfolds and bears fruit.
The two short verses carry that idea into quieter images. While he pulls weeds, his beard keeps growing, a reminder that he is changing too, even in ordinary moments. Then, in the evening garden, a snake's shed skin lies beside the lettuce, a sign of renewal and of other lives sharing the space. The mood is calm, patient, and gently hopeful, with a little humor and a lot of attention to small, slow change.