just can't get enough...

...of that light. Like the waters of the ocean, the counter top picks up the blue of the sky. The floor -- the green of the trees outside.






Different. Life is different when there is light all around you. (This is at breakfast. My guy gets pancakes today. Celebrate!)






Inside and out. (Do you remember how dark the porch space looked from this vantage point?)

In the meantime, the sun shines bright and the blooms are sweet and mellow and nothing, nothing seems too hard or complicated.

But work continues to lay its heavy claw on all hours of the day. From sunrise, to sunset I'm stuck at the table with my books spread in all directions. Living on the farmette is at once so tough in these months of brutal work (I want to be outside!) and so gratifying: I take two minute pauses repeatedly and I don't have to walk far to find the most stunning little vignettes of seasonal beauty.






Ed resumes work on the roof, reattaching the flashing where the glass panels meet the wooden farmhouse frame.

And so we move into a beautiful evening and as promised, we have a dinner out. Mussels and fries and a frisee salad. And a glass of rosé. At the bar counter, where we can watch the flow of traffic at each side.






Perhaps the best part about living in the country is witnessing a day's beginning and a day's end. As we drive the last quarter mile home, the thinnest sliver of the moon and a first bright star (is it Sirius? or a planet?) shine brightly to the west.





We pull into the driveway. Isis is out to greet us. The air is cool, robust. In a week or two, it'll be time to bring in the plants that spend the winter indoors. Orchids, geraniums, a few herbs, maybe a nasturtium -- they've had their six months of the carefree life. Now is the time to think of packing up your roots and heading indoors.