Singular things were occurring in the garden. Portentous – but of what? Cabbages grew to the size of bowling balls but snap peas withered on the vine. Tomatoes swelled and popped with the sound of gunshots. New potatoes fornicated underground, their offspring breaking the surface with myriad eyes. Carrots bifurcated. A cloud of grasshoppers descended and devoured all the weeds. Worms wriggled to the surface by the thousand and dried in the sun like uneaten spaghetti. All spring and summer the gardener struggled to divine a miracle or an apocalypse, until one fall morning he awoke deliberately, to find himself dead.