Indian Summer, Perhaps

After days of rain and gloomy chill, the weather did a turn-about.

On Sunday a tentative warmth began to dry the sodden landscape and  Monday we woke to blue skies and a warm wind that seemed determined to blow us away.

I put laundry on the old clothesline, securing garments and towels with extra pegs.

I invented small tasks to keep me out-of-doors, trudging about the yard with the barn kittens cavorting round my ankles.

The wash snapped and cracked, billowing almost horizontal with the gusts, then subsiding during momentary lulls.

Later I placed a duvet on the line to air, but after twice adding more clothespins, it had to be rescued when it landed like a fallen white cloud, settling near the trumpet vine.

The two old barns on the property are in need of some repairs.

As J. says, "They're on the list!"

Can you see the wrinkled piece of tin near the edge of the barn roof?

It clattered and whacked with each blast of wind, threatening to tear loose.

It wasn't the day for mounting a ladder to work on the roof!

J. climbed into the rafters attempting to tie down the edge of the tin from the inside--a very temporary

measure.  Both barns face south and before noon are flooded by the low-hanging sun.

This is the clump of ornamental grass near the garden gate.

[It was planted by the former owners.]

The feathery, bleached tassels thrashed in the wind.

Tendrils of dried grass near the bottom of the clump.

The seed pods of the trumpet vine bounced and rattled in the wind.

The moon rose early, huge and glowing, more golden than silver.

This was taken from the lighted carport, with the nandina shrub in the foregound.

When I looked out at midnight the limbs of trees and shrubs still tossed,

slender moving shapes etched against the night sky.

At 4, we woke to the rush of rain accompanied by the booming of thunder.

Today I noted that most of the trees which border our property to the west and across the creek to the east have shed the last of the clinging leaves.

Here in the dooryard the sweet gum alone has a smattering of  fading crimson leaves.

Most of the "gum balls" are still attached to the twigs.

J. has made good use of the fine weather to begin the horrendous task of sorting

the garage. 

When we arrived in March, everything which had been packed in our son's shiny horse trailer was hastily

decanted into the small dirt-floored garage [another upgrade "project" on J's long list.]

All summer we have rummaged through power tools, oddments of furniture, huge cartons of books, kitchen clobber, bits and  pieces.

J. has now trundled my boxes down the outside stairs and ranged them in the hallway of the basement--while I hovered and fussed.

He has conveyed tools and bins to the barn for temporary storage.

He had a bonfire.

[Men are not to be trusted when in a burning mood!]

Several mice have hastily exited the garage--to be pounced upon by Willis the Kitten.

By whatever name this bit of lovely weather is called,

we are making the most of it.