I was out in the field, on a raw spring morning, with Simon my imaginary friend.

"Looks like we've got our work cut out for us."

It was one of those true/false statements.  True because there was indeed a lot of work waiting out there; whacking down the cover crop, tilling it into the soil, raking the furrows into what might pass for a rough grade.  Then there'd be the hours of laying down irrigation lines, patching leaks, driving t-posts and stringing trellis.  All this before the first transplant even made it into the ground, to be followed - eventually - by thousands of its fellows.

But false too.  False because there'd be no "we" involved.  Just me.

"You sound discouraged."  Simon is a keen observer of the human condition. "You want to talk about it?"

I stared back at him.  His smile seemed sincere enough.  Then again, it usually did.

"Not really."

"Why not?"  He toed a clump of purslane, just beginning to flower.  "You'll find I'm a pretty good listener."

At other times, on other days, I might have appreciated his concern, or his feigned concern, or whatever combination of the two he was managing to display.  But somehow not today.

"Why not?'  I asked him back.  "Well, maybe it's because you're not really there.  Because if I did, I'd be having an imaginary conversation with an imaginary friend, listening to me with his imaginary ears.  And if anyone else was out here, they'd think I was just blithering away like an idiot, talking to myself."

I glanced up just in time to catch it.  The wide eyes, the open mouth, of a wounded child.  Then, all at once, it was gone, replaced by a sly little grin.

"I don't see anyone else out here."

And of course he was right.  The jays were squawking, the hawk was lost in his plaintive cry, and the only sound of man's presence was a single leafblower  laboring away on Cameron Court.  We were alone.  As usual.

"What's that expression?  Cold comfort?"  I found my own patch of purslane, gave it a solid kick.  "I mean, the only person I've got to talk to doesn't really exist, but that's okay, because I'm so alone out here, there's no one to notice I'm talking to him."

I felt, or almost felt, something light on my shoulder.  A shadow, a breeze, a hand.

"I notice," he finally said.