vangogh goes for a bath

Wednesday and Thursday were those two-in-a-million days that give so much light and warmth and happiness that your mind almost falls for the same trick your half-naked body has already fallen for. I gave in yesterday, in the garden, in shorts and and un-shod white feet. I allowed myself the momentary confusion to believe we were on the other side of winter, headed for even warmer days, headed for summer.

But of course, it is winter we are headed for. And this morning the gods resumed their nasty autumnal pleasure of a cold, incessant rain.

We've been going ten million miles an hour through the fall and I think we are just nearly approaching a tapering point. I keep saying that, but we must be slowing down. The cows and pigs are moving ever closer to their winter quarters. The barnyard is littered with hay. We are already nervously counting bales and mouths, mouths and bales. Squinting in our calculations, hoping the two add up. The garden is officially closed. The winter rye was sown to cover the ground. The Aged Ps are visiting and yesterday they planted 500 cloves of garlic with me well past the sun's set. The older laying hens are molting.

The cold rain makes my body ache for the sun of the two days before. But, I suppose its like enjoying a ripe tomato from the garden. I can't have the warmth of the sun all year round or I wouldn't love it so stupidly and fully as I do.

Hoping for a couple more of those sun-days peppered through this fall, but over all, trying to be as accepting as I am able of this rain.