Alas, too late

This was why we bought the house. "Oh look," we said, as our realtor struggled to open the door, "they have an artichoke plant." Before we'd even crossed the threshold, we were in love. All summer we waited, patiently, for our time. And then it came. Two perfect artichokes waiting to be plucked. But we wavered. "Not tonight," we said. Perhaps when there's company, we'll steam them, dip the leaves in aioli, and scrape their newly-garlickly flesh across our teeth, share the bottoms and the hearts. "Too much work," we said. There's furniture to arrange and weeds to pull and new house and garden chores aplenty. But every day our artichokes opened, just ever so slighlty more, to the sun and reproduction. And now, look at them, ruined and gorgeous, exploding in purple fertility.