Sliding
three days off
There is a tree across the valley which I think I have just noticed for the first time. It is the shape of child’s drawing - a circular bush shape of a rusty orange. It is very luminous in the soft Autumn light, the only colour as most of the leaves of it’s tree siblings have fallen. I can’t say I have noticed them fade away this year. It is one of my favourite things to watch unfold, this seasonal change in tree form. I think I clocked in too early when April was first spoken on my lips now it is June and I have looked up, missing most of the seasonal change, except for one. I can’t stop seeing it now.
As I step outside it is too warm. Like freaky warm and thoughts of snowflakes dance into my head, I wonder if there will be a sudden weather change. It is late in the afternoon, after 5pm and I am optimistically holding my camera in my hand. I take photos amazed that I am capturing something forgetting that I put the ISO on automatic. It is negotiating with the light for me. Flower beds that were once full of flowers are now bare. I cut back the frost burnt dahlias and have chopped their stalks and dried seed heads to form a mulch over the tubers that will remain in the soil. I like the cycle of it, of their composting the soil to help support the growth of the season to come. I can’t wait until they are back.
Atlas trots past, bone in his mouth. Five minutes later my eye catches him trotting across the lawn, no bone, later still he appears again, different direction once again with bone. I think he has moved it about 4 times and when we head inside I have no idea where he has buried it. No doubt it will be an argument later when Eos finds it and declares it hers. Both boy dogs do not argue with her when she has claimed such a thing. I carry on my work, weeding a small bed that holds two roses, one red and one white, along with come spring, Solomon seal and Italian parsley. It is weird collection of plants that has evolved on it’s own. The roses have been here longer than I in this garden. I add some sweet peas that have sprouted, the loo rolls standing proud of the soil so that I know who they are. I pop some poppy seedlings in just to see what happens. Iris tips have pierced the soil. It feels too early.
The three day weekend invites a call sheet of work. Dahlias are removed from pots and cleaned to be stored for the “winter”. The empty pots will soon be filled with the many tulips that are currently residing in the fridge. I chop back anything where I can see has growth coming through and the seeds have been spent. I try and keep seed heads for birds and it has become one of my favourite thing over the Autumn to watch finches and wax eyes steal this nourishment in a flit of a dance. The sky this evening stretches and looms, in steels of grey and blue. It feels like something is coming. I collect the bone dry washing, plan what we are going to have for dinner and welcome the idea of a drop of rain. A story in itself.
with much love
Mel