I joined a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) a few years ago and started going to the Regional Market every Saturday. In the summertime it bursts with aliveness: baskets of petunias and impatiens, carrots stacked high next to piles of radishes, deep green bunches of spinach and kale, the smell of fried dough and coffee. It has an old-world feel because of the sound of vendors hawking deals, the chatter of people from various ethnicities and cultures, and the care in which farmers I've come to know, set their just picked produce gently into my bags. In the market's rich diversity and enlivened state, this haiku came to me.