#41 Early September

Before the fall

For even the early-turners few leaves are yellowing but the night gains on us each day. A few minutes more of darkness. the ground cooling slightly more each night, heating slightly less each day. tomatoes and other fair-weather friends wilt back a-gasp at the dank cool being savaged upon them. Always with the dramatics, those tomatoes. The yellow-jackets swarm and I cuss out the squirrel every morning for only eating half a cherry tomato here, another there. another there.

At least he leaves the real tomatoes. for now. The zucchini has wilt and bears stilted fruit. the lettuce seems as happy as it’s been to be free of the summer burn. The readying for winter begins all around but heavy rains come for days and we all get to sit in our now heat-running homes and think about future icy north winds and feet of snow and whatever else we try to forget all summer.

I try to hate fall for killing my garden but there’s unimaginable richness everywhere around me. The soil is dark and rich and smells sweetly of death and nutrients. the cycle must continue even if it feels like too much work to keep on going. to keep on thriving then abating.

I didn’t anticipate another post so soon but found myself slowly being buried in pictures. sometimes finding shots in the mornings, on lunch breaks, chasing the dying of the light. So many, so quickly, I had to resort to diptychs and triptychs again so as not to overload you (and substack).

and the fall colors haven’t even begun.