Last weekend I planted additional bell peppers and sweet peppers plus a honeydew melon. I anointed them with homemade compost and cold water, and they trembled in thanksgiving. Last night I padded to the garden with my headlamp and — lo! — found three black widows hovering in interstitial space between my tomato plants, large and black and menacing. For weeks they’ve been fattening themselves on the milk and honey of insect life in my garden. They were steroidally huge with thin triple-jointed legs. Slipping my construction gloves on, I pinched the life out of them with my thumb and forefinger, one by one, cracking their bright red hourglasses. They’re surprisingly fragile. The only thing separating them, and us, we other widows and widowers, orphans and orphaned, from death is a wee bit of pressure, from above, or the side, or within. May we all be happy and well and free from suffering. The only godless prayer worth uttering!