I wondered what gave the hostas their impressive golden foliage last year, and I learned that it was a combination of crisp sunny days, chilly nights and adequate water. Since the conditions were duplicated this year, the plants graciously obliged with more gorgeous chartreuse and yellow colors.
I guess it's not officially fall until the leaves turn. Behold this season's autumnal colors.
I'm reviewing the last details of garden planning for next year - spring bulbs, sowing seeds, moving and dividing perennials.
An assertive toad lily towers over the barren flower beds, you can't tell what is what anymore, in the jumble of fading foliage and loose leaves.
It is time to harvest the herbs, before they get damaged by frost, and maybe make an extra helping of lemon balm oil for the long winter months. I brought some thyme plants indoors and potted them for the winter months.
There is still time to get daffodils and crocuses, one can never have enough daffodils, especially in the back yard. The little garden I started last fall could certainly use more of them.
My mind is scattered and antsy and winter weary, and I'm already dreaming of spring!
This morning I stepped out the door into a painted world, a colder one gleaming copper and gold and smelling of mushrooms, my face kissed by ghostly mist and thinking that I really don't like fall; it seemed unfair in view of the spectacular display of color, so I figured that maybe it's ok after all, in small doses.
October reminds me of a painting I did in second grade, of a landscape swept by whipping rain, with colorful trees projected on a sky the color of gray slate. It was supposed to be a watercolor, but I squeezed the paint right out of the tube, slathering it thick on the paper with a technique better suited to oil painting.
I watched the memory for a second, while a heavy cloud passed across the sun, dimming the already filtered light and sending a chill through my bones. I instinctively scanned the landscape for safety and shelter, without even realizing it, the way the critters of the wild do. Wrapping the warm sweater a little closer around my body I looked at the sky, in an attempt to figure out where the clouds were going and trying to trace the cool scent of rain in the wind.
I took a quick trip around the garden, wading through the fat cushion of leaves covering the paths, but the perennials had already retired for the winter and there wasn't a lot to see. Since the plants seemed to have the right approach, I followed their lead and got back indoors too.