The movement of the seasons is so much more pronounced here than my recent long frame of reference. Plants grow and bloom in an orderly sequence, internally programmed over millennia.
I observe this march of blossoms, cataloging species to their time, becoming acutely aware of the turning of each day.
The details that chronicle each click of the wheel are not always bold.
Subtle clues abound in the emergence and disappearance of another unheralded green layer of the living tapestry the rises from and descends into the earth. Each in their time.
The spotlets grow, almost a year old now. Each day they become more settled in the comfort of our routine.
Lessons are learned about the other inhabitants of the mountains.
A framed view of the setting sun shows its southern journey is already under way.
Anxious over time.
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5 comments:
This post seems almost like an autunmal musing. I am sure if the Spots ok everything at the CC the "INSPECTORS" will do the same. I was ever hopeful for you that all was ok'd and you were to carry on inside. You see, I am the impatient one. Cheers.
Lisa it is kind of autumnal. It took a week to repair the leaks and I am afraid and have been warned I won't be living in the CC this winter. The cool down is just around the corner it seems. Two years now. Two years and counting to build one tiny little cabin.
Oh well.
I think it's one of the lesser-known advantages of gardening. We get attuned to the seasons, and that helps us appreciate the long march of time. I plant for what I like to call my hundred-year garden. What will be left behind will enable me to haunt my garden after I become a ghost.
What a beautiful post. I love being able to wait and watch in the garden.
Beautifully written--a soul exposed.
A warm caring heart, feeling tired, wanting things to calm down for much needed contemplation.
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