The garlic in my yard has a conspiratorial air, heads coiled, beaks thrust in every direction. Nearby, a lone wild onion’s Medusa hair.
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The garlic in my yard has a conspiratorial air, heads coiled, beaks thrust in every direction. Nearby, a lone wild onion’s Medusa hair.
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My father always claims that begonias, hairy beasts that they are, have dark intentions on innocent sleepers. He would love your conspiratorial garlic.