Summer Farmer’s Market

(object rustles) (crickets chirping) (wind blowing gently) (birds chirping) Hello, I'm glad you could join us tonight here at the farmer's market. People are just starting to mill about and enter the market. Tables are set and the vendors are settling in. Maybe you are here for some fresh produce or a jar of clover honey. Or maybe you are just here to sit down and take it all in. Tonight's exercise is a really simple breathing exercise. So when you're ready, let's begin. So first, get comfortable in your bed. Now just bringing the attention to the breath, just noticing where you feel it, in the nose, the throat, the chest, the diaphragm. Your nice and relaxed. We are going to be taking a deep breath in for four, holding it in for four, and then breathing out for six. So are you ready? Let's begin. In for four: two, three, four. Hold it for four: two, three, four. Now breathing out for six: two, three, four, five, six. In for four: two, three, four. Holding for four: two, three, four. Out for six: two, three, four, five, six. In for four: two, three, four. Holding for four: two, three, four. Out for six: two, three, four, five, six. In for four: two, three, four. Holding for four: two, three, four. Out for six: two, three, four, five, six. Great, now returning the breath to normal. A familiar face, Lynn is here to sell flowers to the market goers. She mans a table completely covered with freshly-cut roses, tulips, daisies, and daffodils of all different shades: pink, red, orange, not unlike a sunset or a sunrise. The daisies come in yellow and white varieties, their pistols tufted brown and black. There is an array of newly plucked lavender, straight from the fields in Cozy Acres, fragrant and calming, beautiful in all its purple and lilac curls. A small chalkboard easel declares, "Make your own bouquet." Market goers come and go. A woman holds a fistful of orange princess tulips and baby's breath. Lynn unspools a length of satin ribbon and cuts it with a pair of golden stalk-shape sewing scissors. The woman ties off her bouquet and goes on her way. Another customer leaves with an arm-full of lavender cradled in the crook of his arm, like you would a baby. He leans down and breathes in a lungful of its herbaceous perfume. He tips his back so that the sun hits his cheek and sighs content. On tables representing different area farms, an assortment of fresh produce is proudly on display. Everything from lush ripe eggplants, to little bundles of spring onions, to mountains of freshly picked violet pears. There is a wicker basket filled to bursting with large fuzzy Georgia peaches, baskets of nectarines with their tout, rough skins; dark plums; ears of sweet corn still sheathed in green; heads of broccoli, cauliflower, green cabbage. There are plastic punnets filled with raspberries, blackberries and strawberries, some still holding...