Early morning sunshine fled before a host of grey clouds.
No rain, but a chilly day.
A fire on the living room hearth has been welcome.
I've felt badly over the fate of the peonies, battered with rain just as they began to open.
J. had tied them up, otherwise they would surely be dashed flat to the ground.
I cut a large bunch of them and they sit in the splendor of the jade green McCoy vase--which is greener than the photo shows.
Bits and pieces of family belongings are here and there--things which G. and M. have brought in, papers and such which J. and I have strewed.
Thus, not to detract from the beauty of the flowers I used my camera's "macro" setting which enhanced the blooms, erased the background clutter, but left the flowers "floating" against a dark background.
Nan in a comment on a recent peony photo asked if I knew the poem Weeds and Peonies
by New Hampshire poet, Donald Hall.
I have several of his books and a collection of his late wife's poetry.
The Peony poem, written after the death of his wife, Jane Kenyon, is one I hadn't read.
You can read it at the link below.
The white peony which he describes is the one familiar to New England gardens, creamy white with a red tinge at its heart.
Strawberry production continues through the cooler weather.
J. picked these today.
We all ate our fill, then I prepared 5 qts for the freezer.
Grandson D. asked if I could make "strawberry jelly."
I told him I could manage jam or preserves--he replied, "JELLY!"
I can't imagine stewing the berries and then mashing them just for the juice.
The debate ended when we all needed to go out on errands.
I may put up some preserves as the strawberry season winds down.