thirty one seconds

I still have a voicemail from my grandfather. Thirty one seconds, mostly about a greenhouse. He starts to say goodbye twice and remembers one more thing about the tomatoes both times, and then he laughs at himself, and that laugh is the reason I have paid for extra storage across four phones and nine years.

I play it maybe twice a year, always in the car, parked, where nobody can see me. For thirty one seconds the greenhouse needs seeing to, and everything is fine.