Weather in south-central Kentucky has been all that one could wish for in October: skies of brilliant blue, mid-day sunshine warming the air after cool and misty mornings. Twilight has painted the western horizon in mellow shades of apricot and deep pink, fading slowly to dusty mauve and
The cosmos are still making a brave show, leaning over the timbers which form the retaining wall at the bottom of the garden.
Close up many of the individual flowers have gone ragged.
I collected a few seeds this week, intrigued to find that while the default pink-flowering plants have ripened seed, most of those on the white and bi-colors are still green and held
stiffly in their little cups.
As I have walked in the pastures and in the edge of the woods I have found tiny short-stemmed violets--surely out of season.
Our hedgerows have quite a sprinkling of the soft maple variety locally known as Sweet Gum.
They are rather fragile trees, prone to rot. On Wednesday Jim took the chainsaw to the tottering spire of the one at the edge of the drive--the rotted top came down in a thunderstorm in May.
Although they are not considered of value, I appreciate these trees for their handsome leaves, especially in the fall as they color in scarlet, gold or a rich purple-brown as above.
Orange-red--perhaps where a branch receives more direct sun [?]
On Thursday, late in the afternoon, the harvesters came in with their machinery. I was headed out with the car when a pickup eased over the hump in the narrow road, a red warning flag held out the driver's window. I guessed what was approaching and carefully backed up into the driveway at the lower house to wait until the huge reaper trundled by.
This field at the foot of our lane and across the narrow road is owned by our neighbor.
Our corn ground lies to the left of this photo's edge, farther along the road.
By Friday night, our fields had also been harvested--timely, as the rains began in the night.
Tiny frost asters have sprung up where Jim kept the edges of the lane mowed during the summer.
Queen Anne's Lace bends frowsy heads over the fence along the lane.
The ridges are layered in the homespun colors of oak and hickory.
Seed heads to gather.
I want to be sure and collect a goodly amount of seed from these bi-colored cosmos.
These late-season blooms are smaller than those which opened even a few weeks ago.
Rain moved in during Friday night, continuing into the early hours of the morning--gentle, quiet rain, the more welcome for knowing the corn had been safely harvested.
Grey skies have prevailed through the weekend and more rain showers are forecast into the middle of the week.
Leaves drift down from the trees in slow swirls, caught on quiet currents of air.
The path into the woods behind the stable is now thick with fallen leaves.
The scent of cooling soil, of vegetation just starting to decay, is the scent of every autumn remembered since childhood.
Autumn is my favorite season in spite of the promise of coming winter that lurks on a frosty morning.
I have not been overly busy this quiet grey weekend;
there was church, there was time to read a bit, time to listen to a variety of music.
I browsed through some new magazines--decided I like my own 'decorating' as well as any on the glossy pages.
Several cats vied for my lap this morning as I sat at my desk.
They have seemed needier than usual since the disappearance of Nellie.
As the murky afternoon darkened the kitchen I made soup, enjoying the homey aroma of simmering potato, celery, onion, a bit of turkey bacon, a pinch of curry.
Popovers out of the oven to slather with butter.
Hastily gathered catnip put on trays to cure in the wood stove oven, the stalks tossed on the floor for the cats to enjoy.
Plastic rings stitched onto the ends of curtain tie-backs.
A mug of tea, a wander through the upstairs rooms, considering what projects I may tackle this week.
Beneath tiredness, I feel a bit of creative energy rising.