Friday

We aren't stuck in a Groundhog Day repetition of sunshine and loveliness. Today is drizzly and damp: perfect for all the stuff that must be done at the end of the week. (In addition to the stuff that must be done every day, like animal care!)

I cast an eye toward the garden, if only to acknowledge the flowers that make a brief comeback now. I've shown you the occasional blooming day lily. There is, too, the reblooming phlox.






And the crazily exuberant nasturtium, climbing every which way.






All this is very lovely, even on gray, wet days. In several weeks, I'll have to get my hands dirty and clear the yard and plant the bulbs (yes, the ones that I put in with hope, only to have them devoured by deer in the spring) and do all that needs to be done in preparation for winter. But not just yet. September and early October are resting months for this gardener!






Breakfast is in the kitchen. I doubt this will change. Mornings will stay cool, I'm sure of it.






The young family has some stuff to do with the little girl and so I have no Snowdrop with me this afternoon. Still, I take in a few minutes with her and with Sparrow, because Friday is a day of catch up with my daughter. I stop by her house and we head out for a few minutes of quiet chatting, away from routines and pulls and tugs from the world around us.

(A picture of Sparrow, because you haven't seen him much in recent weeks...)






If this day seems slow moving and without pizzazz, I'm going to say -- and that's a good thing! Looking ahead toward October, November, December (I'm not even thinking about 2020!) -- I see a lot going on. Slow moving days are going to be a rare thing for me. And so it feels super luxurious to move pensively rather than hurriedly. Oh, I wouldn't trade happy tumult for anything, but it's best when there are pauses. On this drippy Friday, I take a solid pause.