October 16, 2016

Steel sky before evening. With a mighty effort I managed to get all the remaining bulbs and slips and plants into the ground, all that I’ve received so far, the great last mass of daffodils and peony and trillium and fern and butterfly weed. Except for a sassafras tree, nothing more is expected. Therefore I hope that the steel gray means imminent rain. I sat under the maple beside the wind chime in contemplation, and one of the things I contemplated was the tiny flying things round about me. Something– it may have been the smallest imaginable wasp– kept getting tangled in the hair on my arms. I watched it thrash about, climb to the top of a hair, fall back, climb again, finally spreading its wings in victory, all the while I scarcely would have known it was there had I not been looking at the right instant. Worlds within worlds.
   
Sat at our table for the Admissions open house, talking to eager young ones heading our way. The view of the mountains behind us should have snagged those our charm and erudition did not.