Two weeks ago, it was premature snow. Today, an appropriately seasonal soft fog envelopes us, and stays a good part of the morning. Sweet air carries an earthy scent of leaves turning to mulch around the shrubs; fat chipmunks skitter around, purposeful and serious. In spring they fall all over each other, looking like cartoons of themselves, making us laugh. In fall they mind the omens, pack up reserves and prepare to hunker down. As do the tubby squirrels.
I do the same, after looking toward the kayaks, yearning for one last paddle before darkness takes over. I clear out old food from the kitchen, gather squash and eggplant from the farmer's market, some re-energized arugula and bok choy from my little raised garden. I bring down the storm windows while autumn breezes blow lightly, preparing to bar the howling wind of winter from entering my kitchen.
The last task today is finished: winter savory, thyme and tarragon are potted and sit on the sill, will soon be in stews and on roasted fish and fowl. My cat, amazingly, likes to eat the stevia leaves. That can be a problem. I'll figure it out later. It's time for a walk before I leave on a small journey, to Brooklyn. More later...
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