one day in september
these are little things, but worth noting. today i had the time to go foraging widely enough to pull this bouquet of autumn yellow-gold together. over the last month i would have picked one or two or maybe three of these elements and called that good enough. in other news, my husband arrived at the top of the stairs the day before yesterday and caught me at my journal. that should not be a surprising thing for him to happen upon. that should be baseline upon which the melody of my life is built. but lately it has been a rare or nonexistent sight. “look at you,” my husband said. and we were both happy about this tiny little signal that perhaps, after so many months, normalcy is returning, and with it, the first inklings of a return to a creative routine.
bouquet of autumn golden yellow ochres
cool and hot
the green leaves lingering from the hottest part of summer look cool and undercooked here, and the brown/black leaves caused by the first chilly autumn temperatures look charred. all in all though, it’s a pretty appetizing looking casserole.
spotted elm leaves (Stegophora ulmea)
as i sometimes say to my husband, “let me tell you about my week…” although actually, it’s about my month. i finished the big house renovation project up the driveway from us on August 31. On September 1, a tree limb fell and blocked the driveway. on september 2, there was water in the basement, which was also the day my daughter came home from san francisco for a visit. the next day, on september 3, my husband came home from france, and last thursday i left at 4 am for my nephew’s wedding in santa barbara wearing white jeans and not thinking in any way about the fact that, as a fully menopausal 54 year old, i might possibly get my period, except that i absolutely did get my period on the plane to santa barbara, on the way to spend four days with my beloved, crazy, argumentative, right-wing, hard-drinking family while my nephew married his beautiful, latina left-wing bride in an 18th century spanish mission church, and we drank and danced until the wee hours, while i changed tampons and pads, and tried to keep up, while, little did i know, a flight delay was waiting for me at the airport, so that i arrived back home at 2:00 in the morning. this morning. it is good to be home. and i am spent. but it is very good to be home. but i am totally spent. but, damn, it is good to be home. but, holy shit. i am spent.
branch with dried poplar leaves
choosing and choosing again.
these three vines look as if they were destined to be wrapped up together into almost a single strand. but really, at any time, one of them could have elbowed out away from the others, and struck off on its own. that’s what makes a family, i guess. always having a choice, and choosing, then choosing again, to come back home.
(unidentified) intertwined vines
war and peace
thistles grow up prepared to make war. they bristle and threaten, and make their enemies pay with piercings, blood, and pain. but then when they have mellowed into old age, and their flowers of dynastic purple have faded to a lavender gray, they shed seeds soft enough to stuff pillows with. i like both incarnations. the warrior and the domestic peacemaker. i have a little of both in me.
dried musk thistle heads