We are saying goodbye to the garden for the next two weeks. I love this time of year so much, and it is hard to leave, knowing that these nasturtiums will likely not be standing tall when we return.
They’ve given us their spicy sweet all summer long. Wandering around the garden, I gather one last bouquet and inhale deeply before we adventure off across the Atlantic Ocean.
Bringing in the house plants that spent the summer outside; wondering at how much they’ve grown; getting soil all over the kitchen table and floor and counter . . .
The greenhouse seed babies are thriving and this little man has been busy making a mud pit full of “hot cocoa” just outside the door. I’m thinning and he’s brewing; so come on over for some cool microgreens and warm drinks! I love gardening in this giant terrarium on the cusp of autumn. It’s such a paradox to watch new life burst forth as everything else outside slows down and lets go.
I wished I had brought my Nikon camera. My old Olympus just doesn’t do well in low light. And yet, it was dark in there, in the evening, in the swamp. So, there is something about this photo that feels especially true.
We neglected you a little more than usual this year.
And still, you bless us with omelettes for lunch.
Thank you. So very much.
I traded my roses in for nasturtiums.
Spicy instead of sweet.
Hardy into the autumn.
So abundant, the beds are overflowing with their leaves and blossoms.
And so very filled with light.
hurt by a friend
it follows me around
and I can’t shake it.
I try to take a walk
and I try to write a poem
and I try to have a conversation,
and it goes to sleep with me
and wakes up with me
at the kitchen sink.