Let The Color Begin

The same scene in a different light.

The color should be good for the Sisters next week. A little rain may be involved. If they look close there are autumn crocus about. I should check the status of the fall blooming Witch Hazel. There are root crops to harvest, squash to bake, a few beets to boil and Black Turtle Beans to shell. There is also a sack of bulbs to plant.

It is going to be a busy week.

Ain't No Sunshine

On my tile floors. So I consider the entire mopping process a failure.

The sad truth that keeps repeating itself to me is that the forest trees are fourteen years taller and the sun in my meadow and on my house is forever shrinking. The mountain across the byway is growing taller. I may not see freshly mopped tile floors until the leaves fall and by then it may be too late.

Click on the picture. It will mess with your head.

Two of the four bears I saw at work bright and early Monday morning. I garden with bears.

Miracle At Betsy's Gap

The tile floors in the cozy cabin got mopped for the first time ever. It wasn't as complicated of a procedure as I was expecting. There was a full mopping. The sun will come out tomorrow and I will be able to tell if it actually worked.

Picking tile the color of my dirt was one of the smartest design choices I made in building the house. It may be another ten years before I have to mop them again.

The Sisters will be arriving next weekend to fetch their mother for winter storage. The first hint of fall color and the second hint of cool is washing over the mountains in a breezy grey mist. I started cleaning last month. Then the stars aligned and a mopping happened.

Then this happened. My potted plants are too big for my house.

Blue Aster And The Feral Mums

It's another Bloom Day. That is Carol at May Dreams fun day. I have a functioning photo editing work around and can still participate.

I have been much too lazy to bother making any decisions about a permanent fix to my photo editing and storage issues. That is the opposite of manic. I have blue wood asters.

Blooming throughout a forest turning with the first color.

Leaves are falling when the Monkshood comes out.

Tatarian in full bloom. 

After all these years the Sheffie Mums persist.

They persist in two colors. One of these years I might plant some sprigs in a proper weeded bed and have big mum balls again.

We all live feral now.

In a gilded cage a day early for Bloom Day. Oops. Maybe there is a bit of a manic edge. It's another Bloom Day eventually.

Blue Senescence

The Voodoo Lilies have turned to mush

Without a hint of frost.

A Maryllis ponder their fate

Into dry storage and forced to bloom.

In a blue world bent over.

Senescence like falling in deep blue waters.

The bones will rise again as green flesh slips away in fire and frost.

The Under Garden draws near.

In A Gilded Cage

Trapped in time in a human culture you can not escape, the cage might as well be shiny.

The lining of the nest. The painting in a cave.

Coiled and sprung loose.

Blue Poison

Things have turned wet after a nice sunny dry spell. Other than that the start of October has been rather uneventful, thank you, save for the murder suspect spotted a few mountains over. 

The Monkshood, Aconitum uncinatum I presume, is blooming and visible from my dry front porch perch among all the wet blue aster flop. This is a very late bloom time.

It is highly poisonous. I have a number of toxic and medicinal plants growing well in the wild cultivated gardens.

I planted the poison for the interesting deep blue flowers. Monkshood's poisonous relation, the Doll's Eyes, got planted for the cool toxic berries. No berries this year. The Doll's Eyes got stomped on or frozen the last couple years.

More wet is on the way. What else will October bring?

In A Blue Fall Garden

Blue Wood Aster

There has been no progress or attempted progress with my picture taking issues. I'll deal with that another day. Zebra grass.

Where whole trees fall.

So much vibration has rubbed the sharp edges off of things.

And there is a visual truth to the soft focus of a blue fall garden. It only takes the slightest breeze.

The okra was not picked Uncle Ernie

The garden turned blue.

Feral parsnips seeded and died. The next generation will be harvested.

Winter squash are being stored.

Yucca

I have not had regular six day a week mail service for two years now. It keeps getting more erratic.

Time flies

In circles

Along the scenic byway.

Sumac of the wrong sex.

Washed in pale blue

Tatarian

I wander after chores.

In a blue world in blue light gloaming.

As the creatures of the night begin to stir.