yum

“The most indispensable ingredient of all good home cooking: love for those you are cooking for”
- Sophia Loren

If that is the truth then those I love must feel as if I have turned my back on them.
I lay in bed each morning thinking about what to fix for dinner wishing instead that I was cooking up something fun to do with the day ahead. I am fully aware that this is my fault, having bought into the notion that food ≈ love. But I am learning to step out of this role with these beautiful words . . . “I am not cooking tonight.” The world does not stop, nor does he complain. And on those days that I fix him one of his favorite meals - he always says yum!

***

prelude

“Ah, September! You are the doorway to the season that awakens my soul...
but I must confess that I love you only because you are a prelude to my beloved October.”

― Peggy Toney Horton

through the branches

The tiny berries on the barberry bushes are starting to form. I read that the berries are edible, used for tea or maybe jam and have health benefits. I can’t image harvesting them as they are so tiny and surrounded nasty long thorns. But they make a beautiful backdrop for the green maple leaves as I hunt for any sign that autumn has arrived.

the back yard

“You can journey to the ends of the earth in search of success, but if you’re lucky, you will discover happiness in your own backyard.”

- Russell Conwell

The apples are few on our two trees this year. They follow the path of the other fruit baring trees in our yard. Unlike a row of carrots or a few tomato plants, they take more care, and attention, both things I am just not willing to give any more. Instead I give them whole heartedly to the wildlife in our backyard. In hopes that the fallen fruit might help them through the cold months ahead.

***

taking it in

“I stand at the window looking out, trying to remember the truths that nature always brings home. That what lies before me is not all there is. That time is ever passing, and not only when I notice. That strife and pain are no more unexpected than pleasure and joy. That merely by breathing I belong to the eternal.”

― Margaret Renkl, The Comfort of Crows

tomatoes, in the kitchen window

I pay attention while putting the garden to rest, taking in the smell of the tomato leaves and wondering why no-one has ever captured the smell in a bottle. I read where you can put a few leaves in a pot of marina simmering on your stove, and think I might try that with this last harvest. I consider how little of life I truly grasp, and how limited I truly am when it comes to understanding the feelings and thoughts of others. I find myself more of an observer rather than a cohort in conversations lately, holding back my thoughts and opinions grasping that what lies before me is not all there is, and pushing myself to take more of life in.

***

who am I?

"The hardest challenge is to be yourself in a world where everyone is trying to make you be somebody else."

- e. e. cummings

the last rose

I am ready to put the gardens to bed. Ready to wake up to the sound of rain and a chill in the air. I buy some new pants and a couple new t-shirts, and wash our coats and down vests so they are ready for us when we need them. I think of ways to slow down, cut down on outside influences and seek out joy in unexpected places.

This is the last rose of the season, caught in the rain, and so beautiful.