Mist creeps down the hill towards our house, the koi are swimming more slowly and the colors of fall are beginning to fill the garden. The beautiful orb weaver spiders are getting fatter, their webs covered with dew. We’re about a month away from all the leaves coming down, but autumn is definitely here. The garden’s pulling its energy back inside.
I’d like to say that I’m ready. But I’m not. The patio’s far from finished, we’re in the first stages of digging it all out and putting in the wood borders. And I’m still sifting sand. There’s a lot of sand in our former round pen. The last few weeks have been filled with mostly sunny, dry days. I’m still watering the garden, but that will end. The rain is coming.
The garden’s ready for the winter, except for outdoor furniture to put away. I still need to buy some firewood, for the first time in years! And get an outdoor faucet fixed. The koi are down to eating once a day. If I were a dedicated pond person, I’d cut back all the plants in the upper pond now, before the water gets too cold and the plants turn to goo. We’ll see.
The garden may not be ready for fall, but I am. This is the time of year that it feels right for me to withdraw inside. Metaphorically and literally. I come inside, maybe crank up the wood stove if I’m not going anywhere that day, turn on moody, new agey female vocals or Gregorian Chant and maybe even pull out the tarot cards, do some journal writing or read non-fiction life changing sorts of books.
The Irish Celts viewed the first day of winter as beginning on Nov. 1, the day after Halloween or Samhain (Summer’s end). To them new growth began in darkness. Just like beneath the soil, a seed puts down roots. It’s a time of reassessing and planning for when the new growth is visible to the world. I love this part of the process. Everything is possible and limitations haven’t shown up yet.
This year I’ll be in the middle of my own personal Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month, which officially starts in November). I’ve started early, last Monday, because November is always problematic for me to write on a daily basis. Thanksgiving school holiday, my birthday, those sort of things. It just gets too stressful to get in the daily word count. So I started early. Besides, this novel feels like it’s going to be a fair bit longer than 50,000 words. So, I’ve already started and will just keep going until the first draft’s finished. Whenever that is.
So, that’s where I’m at. I’ve finished the crazy writing binge of short stories for a while, am working on a novel, still sifting sand and fantasizing that it won’t take six months to get the back patio finished. And trying not to whine about the disappearing sun, as I’m surrounded by my blue light thingee and several other lights in my kitchen/office.
And wondering what seeds I’m going to plant in a few weeks. And what glorious plants will they grow up to be.