The first time all season that ‘Empress of India’ has bowed for anything. Her dramatic blue-green foliage is still lovely to my eyes, even when meeting her own death.
I am having a roller-coaster of a day, with unbelievable highs (someone offered F. and me a free honeymoon as a wedding gift, out of the blue) and terrible low moments (we won’t get into that), all meshed together, and it seemed almost necessary to get out into the water-soaked garden and contemplate the gentle bending to the inevitable now on display in every corner.
Nature does do extremes, and sometimes all mixed up together, too, but it doesn’t seem to shake her up like it does me. She never loses her poise.
Can y’all believe it’s November already?
The nasturtiums seem to realize that their time is short. Certainly, their performances in just the last two weeks outshine everything they did for the entire months of July and August. Either they like this cold weather — or they’re determined to make flowers while there’s still time. Maybe a little of both.
As for me, if I were a flower, I’d be one of those already drawing inward, not expending every last bit of energy on new blossoms. I suppose that’s because I’m a perennial species.
In fact, I’m — it’s a little embarassing, but no other way to describe it — nesting: asking F. to hang a painting I’ve long wanted up but never made time for; cleaning the fridge; baking banana nut bread, pound cake, oatmeal cookies and a green tomato/apple pie all in one week; bringing out the extra blankets and giving the flannel sheets a good airing; starting a new crochet project that will eventually be big enough to drape over my lap and keep me warm while I’m working… you get the idea.
I don’t remember ever noticing myself doing this before. Either I’m more self-aware — or living beneath the tree canopy, rather isolated from everything on this little one-way lane, gives Nature the opportunity to make a more dramatic impact on the psyche so that I’m more attuned to the rythms of the seasons. Maybe a little of both.
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