Browsed by
Category: seasons

Step Lively

Step Lively

Comments 0 Comment

When bitter winds howl in from the west, when temperatures dip into the teens, when the sidewalk harbors little patches of black ice and there’s a quarter-mile of pavement between me and the next warm building, this is what I do. Step lively.

It’s what some Metro conductors suggest. “Step lively,” they say. “Doors closing.”

It’s what race-walkers do, with a bounce in their gait and a swivel of their hips.

Step lively, with its whiff of the nautical, its sprightliness and energy and pep.

Step lively. It’s more hop than saunter, more snap than sizzle. It’s quaint and practical and fun.

Step lively. It’s a good way to get through winter.

Almost Solstice

Almost Solstice

Comments 0 Comment

Only hours from the shortest day, I leave the house in lessening darkness. A few houses are still lit  from last night, a subtle defiance. Above it all a crescent moon, purer than the others, though just reflection.

Of course we need the light, will take it any way we get it, are drawn to flames, fires, a faraway porch bulb in the rain.

I catch myself dreaming of summer, of days long enough to waste an hour. Now every minute is precious as we tick down inexorably to the end.  

The Slow Season

The Slow Season

Comments 0 Comment

The cars were glazed with ice this morning, and the pavement was suspiciously shiny. I crept up to the Metro Parking Garage leaving lots of follow room between my car and the cars in front of me.

A winter pace is upon us. I slow down on bridges and ramps, which — we’re always told — freeze first. (Because, of course, they do.) I walk self-consciously, noticing each footfall, the breaks in pavement, the gleaming patches where ice might lurk.

Winter does not promote speeding — or fast movement of any kind. Instead, it slows and mutes us, makes us notice what is right at hand. It is, in that way, a steadying, calming time.

Begonias: The Sequel

Begonias: The Sequel

Comments 0 Comment

Were the begonias reading my blog? If so, not anymore. On Sunday morning, less than 24 hours after I wrote about their bravery and their continued existence, they finally succumbed to the low night temperatures.

I knew their time was up when I wrote about them, am surprised they lasted this long. It’s the life of an annual, as brief as the autumn leaves that I notice are so much more a part of this photograph than they seemed to be when I snapped the shot.

We know what happens next. In a few days or weeks I’ll rip out the old plants and let the soil rest until spring.

A few late roses are clinging to life, but for the most part the growing season is over. The begonias lasted from late May through mid-November —not a bad run.

Happy Halloween!

Happy Halloween!

Comments 0 Comment

The candy is hidden so there will be some left for tonight. There’s a plump pumpkin for carving. And the yard is covered in crisp brown leaves.

I took this photograph at a pumpkin patch Suzanne and I visited three years ago. I remember even then the preciousness of time with her. (Peace Corps was already in her plans.) The preciousness of that time, telescoped as it was then, and especially as it is now during her leave, is just a compressed version of all the precious times we spend with those we love.

The ripe fruits of autumn remind me how important it is to store up those times. Store them up as a plant does, capturing sunlight, soil and rain.

Autumn Planting

Autumn Planting

Comments 0 Comment

There’s a delicious irony in autumn planting, a slap in the face to fall. All around me leaves are yellowing, dying, flaming out, and here I am plying the soil, ripping out the summer flowers, putting fall ones in their place.

I chose mums and ornamental cabbage, hearty plants that can bear a hard freeze and stff wind. I forgo the pretty pansies with their thin stems and hopeful faces.

Planting in the fall is a vote for life. It’s thumbing my nose at winter, saying (if only to myself) maybe it won’t be as bad this year.

Changing of the Guard

Changing of the Guard

Comments 0 Comment

The small peeps of the hummingbird have given way to the eponymous “chick-a-dee-dee-dee” of that small bird. The chickadees will be with us all winter, and if last year was any indication, other birds will crowd the feeder and suet block: cardinals, grackles, woodpeckers, maybe even a bluebird or two.

But I’ll miss the hummingbirds, their aerial displays, the way they dive-bomb each other, claiming all the nectar for their own. I’ll miss seeing their tiny outlines as they perch on the wire of the tomato cage. Who knew they could perch?  They seem the very embodiment of perpetual motion.

Now they’re whirring their way to their winter destination in Central America, propelling their impossibly tiny bodies across the Gulf of Mexico fortified with nectar, insects and what I can only think of as hope.

Equinox

Equinox

Comments 0 Comment

It was a day of balancing — darkness and light, summer and fall. And for me, a day of driving eight and a half hours from Kentucky to Virginia.

Fall comes early in the higher elevations, and the hills were brushed with yellow. Yellow from the thinning trees, from the just-turning leaves, from the goldenrod. Yellow set off by the shaggy gray limestone cliffs that line the road.

A drive is a balancing act, too, a passage from one place to another, holding each in mind as you pass between the two.

View from a Hammock

View from a Hammock

Comments 0 Comment

Speaking of (pictures of) hammocks, I spent some time in one yesterday. I’d been looking at it longingly all week but there was no time to partake. The weather was summer but the work load was decidedly back-to-school. By this weekend, though, with a big project completed and the house (relatively) clean, I had no choice but to relax.

It’s funny that hammocks are so often the symbol of carefree existence. Perhaps it’s their weightlessness or their airiness, the fact that they swing.

Or maybe it’s their contours and mechanics. While I’ve often heard of folks flopping into a hammock, you cannot flop into mine. The contraption is not easy to get into or out of. In that sense it holds me captive. Once I get into it, am I  really going to try and get out very quickly?

Take yesterday, for instance, I had my pillow, my journal, a book, a phone and of course, the requisite glass of iced tea. Imagine the logistics of assembling all that within arm’s reach. I didn’t stir for an hour. Then again, why would I want to?

Wearing White

Wearing White

Comments 0 Comment

While not a fashion traditionalist in most ways (I’m writing this in a work skirt and tennis shoes), I do have a thing about wearing white after Labor Day.

It’s a dictum that originates from my earliest years, from the same place as skirt and sweater sets and little white gloves for dancing school. From a time when there were rules and penalties (a withering glance, an averted head) for breaking them.

Those have gone away, of course — the rules and the penalties — but wearing white after Labor Day … Well, that’s a tough one to break. So white skirt and pants are tucked away for next year. White blouses and shirts, they’re allowed, of course. I’m wearing one right now. A way to keep the flickering flame of summer burning brightly a few more weeks.

(In no hurry for this kind of white.)