It's Sunday. There are such small vicissitudes to this day! I clean (today, in an unusual move, we clean). I work, write, work, write. We pick mushrooms.
...and pears.
Storms come, storms pass.
Ed and I chop and pull at weeds.
The farmette is still lush...
...the cranes still parade at the end of the day as if there is no end to anything at all, just one moment followed by the next and the next...
I cook, Ed cuddles Isis, my daughter comes over for a Sunday meal.
A week-end day like all others or like no others, depending on how you look at it.
We picked apples today from our few heirloom trees. We have the traditional McIntosh—a great all-around apple, Ida Red for cooking and baking, and the newer variety Mutsu—a hard tart green apple like Granny Smith only with a lot more flavor that keeps almost forever. We are especially popular this time of year with our friends who always take a bag of apples home with them.
ReplyDeleteJust outside my studio window, across the patio, we have a twelve foot tall evergreen bush I have named 'the bird hotel' because it is home to dozens of small birds. They fly from the 'hotel' to our tiny pond for water then back to the safety of the 'hotel'. Or they venture out to eat some seeds, then flit back to safety whenever a Blue Jay arrives. This morning several Blue Jays were bathing in the pond when I heard the sudden flutter of many wings and looked up from my painting to see a huge Red-Tailed Hawk land next to the pond. Ten minutes later after a bath and a drink, she was gone—and the little goldfinches began to venture out again.
Ed always looks so happy when he is around Isis. How sweet.