by Lisa

This morning, a thin shattering of ice floated on the back-porch buckets.  The iris shoots and lily leaves didn’t notice, but we dragged the rosemary and sanseveria back into the kitchen last night.  No harm.  Pretty soon, everything can move to one porch or another.  Pretty soon, the green will be darker in the trees and frost will be just something I imagined, unreal in the shimmering heat of summer.

At this tenuous time of year, we fall asleep with windows open and wake shivering.  It’s good to feel the air, and good to burrow under heavier blankets before dawn.  To feel the transition seems important.  Watching the season change isn’t enough when warmth and sun and green things sustain us in so many ways.  I’m happy to shiver a little in the name of change, when an open window at five in the morning would have meant misery just a month ago.

My sweetheart had to wear a stocking cap and a scarf to watch daughter-softball at the high school this afternoon.  At least it’s sunny.  My own small person and I are settling into a sort of hibernation, but she’d rather go outside and shiver.  I’m not okay with that, and I stand my ground under this blankie on the couch.

Tomorrow will be warmer.  A fort-improvement plot brews in my head, but the “in my head” part doesn’t satisfy the stir-crazy half of this couch bound duo.  Tomorrow, we’ll lash sticks together and fashion a roof made of army tent leftovers.  I have patience enough for both of us.