by the light of the moon

Late. I'm on campus, but I'm done worrying for the day. We're to meet and coordinate some outdoor farmette time (Ed and I). But our signals are crossed. He should have sent a message, I should have checked for voicemail. Now, here it is -- nearly the end of the day and soon it will be the end of the day and believe me, there will not be a day like this until… well, maybe April if we have a freak warm spell again come next spring. Splendid warm air: the last ounce of it lingering, letting those who can, soak it in. (We ate breakfast out on the porch this morning. Out on the porch, how cool is that!)







But it's hard to fit stuff in on work days. Indeed, I should have no expectation of fitting stuff in on workdays. Enough that I muddle through, get work done, put dinner on the table (the little table, in front of the TV) and put up a post. That's it.








Today, though,  I want to have a few minutes to get the front yard winter-ready. This is the moment to create a winter garden -- a textured yard that will look pretty with or without a snow cover.  And it is the time to clear away unsightly spent growth. And to put in some bulbs. All in the space of the few minutes between work and dinner.







Ed is only now getting ready to pick up the bulbs and I'm already winding down inside so that every step is slower than the one before and yet -- when we finally do come together -- he with shovel and the newly acquired bulbs, me with the will to get the job done, we come at it with strength and enthusiasm.


Yes -- can you see it? The yard is winter ready.







We plant the last of the bulbs by the light of the silvery moon. After, I cook up a chili. With chicken meat because they were out of ground turkey.

The warm air is surely retreating now. The last bloom is hanging it up, most every leaf has fallen. And we're ready for the next stage. Thanks to this gift of a few hours outside tonight, we're set.