Pole beans in November

I'm a Plastic Paddy--we can be funny about food. A family history of green mouth disease warps one's view of the world.

It's November. The sun barely creeps 35 degrees over the horizon, then falls back down, dead weight.

I just nibbled on a leathery purple bean, plucked straight from the vine in the November darkness. The leaves are mostly gone, but the pod remains sweet. The bean plant loaded the pod with sugar. Energy. A last chance to prolong life.

I ate it.

And I think I know why Eve ate the apple. As much as she annoyed God, she might have gotten the better end of the bargain.

Mortality trumps godliness.