chocolate is a verb

colors, flavors, whims and other growing things

season-work

cotoneaster juniper fog
 
Unusual weather has settled upon us. After a run of perfect autumn days, fog crept in. First, just for a morning visit. Then morning and evening. Then just fog all fog.

As the maples blaze copper and red and the last of the green tomatoes ripen on the kitchen counter, fog glazes every surface with its speckled dampness. In the first days it seemed to hold warmth. But now it carries a deep chill, sends us searching for sweaters, resigns us to the tick and roar of the heater and infuses our conversations. Is summer, we sigh, really over?

And everywhere, spider webs. As if readying for Halloween, the slow, fat-bellied spiders of autumn have knitted up the garden, dropped their silken ropes from eaves and slung nets along fences. The morning’s lingering darkness reveals a pale patchwork of webs high on the telephone pole, caught in the street light’s wan pinkish glow.

The spiders instruct me with their industry.

4 responses to “season-work

  1. Jennifer Bullis October 25, 2013 at 12:43 pm

    So lovely. I love “spiders of autumn have knitted up the garden…”.

  2. Kim Bultman October 29, 2013 at 1:37 am

    You have a gift for describing what you see, feel, hear, think that puts me smack dab in the middle of it. I love this.

  3. jik October 29, 2013 at 7:46 am

    Thank you so much!

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