Ed, the doorbell is ringing incessantly. You go check.
What? What? He's just barely waking up.
Doorbell. Go let him in.
Isis? You're talking about Isis? He's up here with us.
At this hour, I'm easily confused: the cat's in, he's out, I can move, stretch and suddenly I can't. He's there, not there, to the side… it's hard to keep straight the progression of events.
So who's ringing the sensor doorbell? Suddenly, sleep seems remote. Once you're up, you're up. I go downstairs to investigate.
Robins. Who's said robins are birds of spring? We have them by the handful now. In the morning, they dig up our wood chipped paths, they devour crab apples, they dominate the landscape! And right now, they're working the path to the door. I go down and toy with the idea of going out to take photos of birds. Nah. Just one, through the window, to appreciate the early morning sunlight as much as the bird making holes in search of a worm.
Sunshine. It comes and goes today, but when it comes, it's brilliant.
Outside, I do my last watering duty. With a bit of nostalgia -- for a summer season that demanded such a workout from the hose!
When you stand for an hour directing a stream of water, you notice things. Like the late peas Ed planted. We thought nothing would come of them. And now, as the frost hovers over us, a handful has matured. Delightful in their late season surprise.
And I really have to admire the pansies. I always stick them into pots early. Very early. In April. Because they can take cold nights. They usually give it up when the weather turns hot, but this year, I babied them (as did my nephew, back in June) so they straggled and limped their way through the summer, only to bloom again now, on their long, long, ragged stalks. I have to admire that. The first and the last flower, giving forth rich color as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
Around the farmette, the fields and bordering trees are mighty dry. We're still officially in a state of drought. You don't notice it so much in the fall, because your expectations of blooms are so low, but if you look carefully, you can't help but notice the dryness around us. In the browning leaves of the trees. The dustiness of the soil. And still, on a (partly) sunny day, it's always so beautiful out there and especially at the close of the day. Ed and I are returning from a late game of tennis (windy tennis is tremendous fun: the ball goes where it wants to go) and I have to pause. The world is such a pretty place!
For supper -- well, we've got foods to finish off. Broccoli soup. Salads. The usual favorites.
I have work to do this evening. Ed has work to do. And so I settle in with my computer and Ed settles in with Isis.
We, the three of us -- we're highly predictable.