I should have known not to get smug when the potatoes in my new garden spot were thriving in May. I thought it was going to be my best gardening year ever. But then the plants turned yellow and seemed to wither into nothingness in a matter of days.
Tree buds burst into tiny flowers. Gauzy maple and oak stamens cascade from the twiggy tree canopy. Miniature, tender leaves unfurl, trembling like emerging butterflies, and seem too frail to aspire to shade a forest floor.
Today’s topic is perfect for the fall season: cleaning up the leaves. Yes, it’s that time of year again, and if you hate raking as much as we do we’ve got some good news for you. It really doesn’t have to be so…well…impulsive.
In the woods, each seasonal transition is accompanied by faint glimmers of what comes next and ghosts of each fleeting moment. Later sunrise and earlier sunset times now stagger in slow-motion toward an embrace they thankfully never reach. Field crickets chirp in lengthening darkness of …
Something in the sudden acute awareness of slanting, September sunlight, standing amid fallen crimson maple leaves and with long-faded hopes for a Red Sox pennant bid aggravates my annual autumn lament. Despite fall foliage which will again be absolutely gorgeous, I remain vexed.