An ongoing (and very interesting) Literary Project
The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest invites anyone and everyone to invent an opening sentence.
First Chestnut
Yes! I have my first chestnut crop. Not very large, but I am satisfied.
It has been quite warm for the end of September and beginning of October, and still only the rain I mentioned in the other post. Not a drizzle or a drop in more than a week again. I did water a few things yesterday, but nothing today. At this point, if they are dead, or dying, I will let them go. There are too many other plants that are still full of life that need attention.
To celebrate all the plants that have survived our record-breaking dry summer, here are pics offered as proof of my gardening talents…
The chestnuts in the open shell:
In my hand…
And the empty husk.
A new poem and musings on a day in the “Little Summer”
Autumn enters on golden rays of sun and
fills the house with the promise of pies and
long lazy evenings with a good book.
In some systems, there are five seasons: Autumn, Winter, Spring, Summer and the Little Summer — or the Second Summer. It is a time of promise and activity.
The promise of a time of rest, yet time still to finish the last of the gardening, the housecleaning, the shopping.
The promise that all things come to an end — easy times as well as terrifying will cycle through and die, as the grain browns in the fields, as the child becomes an adult and the adult becomes a corpse.
And we remember…
As we remember the sun and the heat, the dry and the growth of the First Summer we also look forward to the dark, the cold, the wet and the silence of the season to come.
We celebrate the times of abundance, we bring in the harvest and we prepare for the time when hearth and home are our refuge, our haven against that storm outside.
The seasons change, the stars roll along in the heavens, and we know… this too shall pass.
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