Winter blues

Poor little moth must take shelter.  Hope he chooses a tough winter plant!

My garden, which is most definitely my muse, is in a state of sadness and resignation. This is a grieving process endured each autumn as its close friends and acquaintances leave or begin their long sleep. 

For now it will not be consoled. With each browning stem and dropping, unspent, tardy bud, the garden sheds a tear, eliciting my sympathy to no end. To us both, spring seems an eternity away. No amount of well-meaning empathy from those around us seems to help. We know the leaves are lovely in their dying colours, and yes it's lovely to see the grass greening again, but we know of the long days ahead with little daylight and even less life-affirming new growth.

We do acknowledge that a rest is in order after a long season of production and performance, so give us a little time and we too will appreciate our winter hibernation as we are meant to do.  We will welcome our local little hummingbirds, and their life-sustaining little bug snacks, and a few winter berries will be there to focus on.  Before you know it, dear garden, your nurturing soils will throng with well-rested baby bulbs, and bugs bursting from their beds.

So when my garden and I are done with this seasonal funk, we will focus on those little victories of nature; the rosebud that somehow demurely peeps out from its protected spot against the house, and the tough little snapdragon sheltering some tiny creature that has chosen such a precarious champion.

Wait, what a stunning beautyberry next door! Tiny bunches of purple balloons cling in crowds all along the bush's stems! I must get one for my garden. That will brighten up my dear muse.

Ah yes.  There is still beauty after all this winter.

somebody is hiding in this suspended leaf.

Wind

Wind driven waves

Wind had been tempting me since I awoke, rushing in swirls about the garden and rustling the hydrangea against the window to get my attention. Now as I stepped outside, it roughly embraced me like an excited child.

I was pushed and pulled along the street by its enthusiasm, past the lone brave seagull at the beach who dared his aerial feats in the stronger than usual currents.
We reached the trail with a grand entrance of maple leaves dancing in the crescendo of giant gusts. I dug my feet in and felt my hair leap about my head in abandon, Wind grabbing and tussling it with zealous roughness.
My rain hat had been relegated to hang from a belt loop moments after entering into this realm, and now it battered about my hip furiously, trying to escape to join the maelstrom.
I waded through piled and piling leaves and debris, blinking and wincing at Wind's efforts to throw bits at me, snowball-style. But I was up to the challenge. A poke in one eye by a helpless maple leaf wasn't going to dull this heart-racing liveliness for me. I strode on, one eyed, not about to miss a moment while recovering. Bring it on.
Further along Wind threw fists of leaves against the trail's fence, delighting in their tumble. Quickly bored, it turned its attention next to roiling a swath of resting leaves into a whirlywind; but before I could dash it like a child kicking a sandcastle, its short attention span was off.  It clamoured up a nearly naked tree, wedging leaves into gaps and pulling remaining holdouts from their twigs. Those stalwarts didn't stand a chance, and grudgingly let their grasp go, leafy fingertips no match for Wind's muscley pull.
Now fully sighted again, I swept along, a part of Wind by now, fully abandoned to its whims; a willing accomplice. We caught and threw leaves, ran in circles, and breathed in relishing gasps.
A small songbird careened drunkenly past my head and into a thick thicket's safety, to the cheers of its fellow refugees.
Too quickly our tryst was over, Wind's and mine, and I reluctantly left its domain at the front door. Thank you, Wind, for that delicious moment in time.

brave seagull