Intimations of Change

A maple on the bank above our house always jumps the gun and begins dropping beautifully colored leaves in early August.  And while I know in my heart that autumn and cooler weather are a good ways off, I can't help enjoying this sneak preview--especially on the days that the temperature and humidity weigh on us, making it hard to breathe.

I try to enjoy each season for its offerings and summer's field flowers and butterflies (alas, not many) are among the pleasures--along with the amazing heirloom tomatoes and peaches now available. I'm loving the different salads and cold soups that we have for supper, the fragrance of just mown grass, an adult beverage under the fan on the porch of an evening, and the fireflies that dot the night. 

But life and the planet roll on and these early messengers remind me to carpe each diem.

 

A New Broom

Perhaps in reaction to the Ford/Kavanaugh hearing (wanting to change what I can) and certainly because October is upon us, I found myself sweeping away Summer's blue and white décor and freshening up things with Fall colors. Even the orchids got moved out of their white pots into more autumnal toned containers.

Away with the dusty sea shells and blue and white porcelain in the corner cupboard and in with an odd assortment of painted gourds and animal skulls, arrowheads and fossils, and various other items that (to me) speak of ancestors and times long past.

Wash those doggy- smelling denim covers, air the pillows, and give them their autumn look. 

Down with the paintings of white lilies and up with the quilters and the  fall-toned landscape. Put the little houses where Josie can see them . . .

Oh, yes, and I bought a new broom . . . to be ready for Halloween? John asked.

That would be telling.

Monday's Sundries

It hasn't frosted yet but it's turned cool enough (51 F on Sunday afternoon) that I doubt the nasturiums will be around much longer. So I've planted a flat of pansies in this little island bed in our entry way.  These hardy little flowers will greet us all winter, smiling up from the melting snow. If things go well, there should be a purple pool around the crepe myrtle trunks next spring.  At least, that's what I'm hoping for.

The big poplar in the cemetery  is shedding its lower leaves and revealing its elegant skeleton while the sun gives its  leafy crown a parting kiss.

This is the lull before the storm -- a time of getting ready. In a very few weeks, the trees beyond the pond will set the quiet water aflame with reflections of red and gold. The autumn color will blaze across the hills and we will scurry to make ready for winter.

The Autumn Switch

 October means it's time to put the house into autumn mode --  of course the chimneys need to be cleaned, the screens taken down and the windows washed, the house plants brought back inside after their summer sojourn outside -- but in order to get myself psyched up for these chores, first I put away the summer blue and white and bring out the autumn colors.

I enjoy marking the change of seasons this way -- and I like putting some things away and bringing others out.  I'll pack away most of the blue and white china in the corner cupboard and take down the paintings of lilies ...

Away with the kitchen's blue and white throw pillows and the curtain over the pantry door . . .

The corner cupboard fills up with odds and ends that have been packed away since last December -- painted gourds, two skulls (cat and raccoon ), and other objects that somehow seem autumnal to me.

 Different paintings in the living room and the ostrich, emu, and rhea eggs that were in the cupboard look somehow different in their new perch on the mantel.

l

The blue and white throw pillows an the couch give way to a rosy-hued leaf fabric, similar to that in the kitchen pillows. . .

And the blue rag rugs go into the washing machine while I bring out these bright mats.

f

A harvest wreath on the door. . .

And it's time to set a spell and rest -- the vacuuming can wait till  another day.

 

Summer Solstice

The wheel of the year turns again. (This morning's sunrise was hidden in fog and cloud so last year's solstice sunrise will have to do.)

The wildflowers of summer time adorn the fields -- Queen Anne's Lace . . .

. . . the tiny two-petaled Day Flower -- the blue of a summer sky . . . and many-flowered mullein. The Brits grow a tame version called Verbascum but we are fortunate to have these stately (almost six foot) volunteers popping up everywhere.

Onward into summer -- which looks to be a hot one.