I know this because it’s late Friday night — technically, early Saturday morning — and the neighborhood is abed. I can’t hear any street chatter from my window over the garage. No one is sitting on their front stoop smoking a cigarette, while a neighbor leans against their garage door sipping on something cold and foamy. The sultry heat of summer is over, and it is gravely quiet. Quiet as the grave.
We’ve had a snap. A snap in the weather, of the cold variety. We’re hovering between summer and fall. Somewhere. Out there. One day it’s 70 Fahren with a measurable humidex; the next it’s 63, and the winds they are a whippin’ through the plains.
And may I just say that the stupid spiders are hieing indoors on their hairy legs, and it’s freaking me out. One just scurried across my office ceiling, and I had to stop writing this post and
scream like a girl encourage him into an alternate universe.
Where was I? Oh, yes.
We’re somewhere between summer and fall. A few leaves have begun to drop to the ground, even less are turning color. Mr. G, honey and I went on a quest last Sunday for fall color. After questing here and questing there, we discovered that the most brilliant was a maple tree at the end of our lane, not far from that hole that sucked most of my intertoobs out of the atmosphere earlier this week.
There are still tomatoes growing in the yard, but there’s also a patio pot with kale, ornamental peppers and chrysanthemum cohabiting in it. There are even some daylilies hanging onto a bloom or two.
There are two fat, orange pumpkins lazing on the kitchen patio, while pretty pink fairy roses are begetting and blooming like crazy in the new frontscape.
Which brings me to this. Remember when I wrote about…
Pumpkin? Squash? Zucchini? Whatevers?
Love the updo.
Hello, Miss Mini.
Whether or not it is of the edible variety, I cannot say. There are edible mini pumpkins. Yet, I cannot say. Say, I cannot.
Who could eat that sweet baby anyway?
Between midnight and morn, the neighborhood continues to remain gravely quiet.