Sunday happenings . . .

 

One morning I go out the back door to pick some of the wild bachelor buttons which grow at the edge of our patch of wild flowers in the back garden and  that's it . . . September has arrived . . .  I don't need the calendar to tell me it's here.  No need to turn the page.  I smell it in the air, like wild blackberries and wind fall apples, the autumn is on our doorstep.  Oh . . . I know our world is still filled with the green of summer . . . but little tinges of brown, yellow and orange are beginning to make their appearance . . . and I feel an urgency to gather in all of the loveliness of summer's blazing glory and keep it forever.



Golden rod in waves edge the highways and byways, sharing their space with the meadows which are slowly going to seed . . . indeed even our garden is looking all seedy.  Mitzie galavants through the dying and drying brush, picking up little hitchhikers which I have to brush off her coat every time she comes into the house.   I am tempted to bar her from the garden . . . but cannot.   The wet weather will come soon enough and she will once again be cordoned off from it . . . sitting and looking across it with longing . . .



Alas . . . she is a digger.  Todd no sooner replants an area dug with grass seed, and she is back at it again.  One wonders why, and then . . . that wonder is replaced with the thoughts of who can begin to understand her compelling madness.  Tis just a part of the wonder which makes her such a loveable her . . . asa much as Todd begs to differ as he has to reseed all over again . . .

But back to the seed pods . . . can anything be more intricate or beautiful than nature, even in it's dying throes???



The days are growing noticeably shorter now . . . squirrels fling themselves from tree to tree in burst of activity with an impending sense of urgency.  I always hope that they will be able to store enough to keep them through the winter months, but . . . they never do do they, they prefer instead to clean up from our bird feeders, foraging (if you can call it that) from what we have left out for the sparrows and other garden birds.  They annoy and entertain at the same time . . . one cannot help but smile as one shakes their fist in exasperation.

They need to eat too . . .



The golden rod is yellow
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down . . .   

The genetian's bluest fringes
Are curing in the sun;
In dusty pods, the milkweed
It's hidden silk have spun.  

The sedges flaunt their harvest
In every meadow nook;
And asters by the brook-side
Make asters in the brook.

From dewy lanes at  morning
The grapes sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies.

By all these lovely tokens,
September days are here;
With summer's best of weather
And autumn's  best of cheer.

But none of all this beauty
Which floods the earth and air;
Is unto me the secret
Which makes September fair.

Tis a thing which I remember
To name it thrills me yet;
One day of one September
I never can forget.
~Helen Hunt Jackson, September



Tis the anniversary of the month that we met in person for the first time.   That will always make September a special month for me.  This man who made my life complete.

A thought to carry with you through today . . .

Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever 
solid and durable happiness there is in our lives.
~C S Lewis   

   

Baking in The English Kitchen today . . . Blackberry and White Chocolate Friands.  Delish little bites of ethereal almondy buttery fruity goodness of course!

Have a wonderful Sunday, September 1st 2013!