Wednesday, September 21, 2011


And then that inevitable sadness sifts down, a mist from a cloudbank that lowers and lowers until it exists inside me, part of every cell. Becomes tissue and marrow.

I saw a bed of pink petunias this morning on the way to work: simple and not trying to impress any living soul. Made a note to plant pink petunias when the planet spins around again to this side of Spring. Right now we're down to one last day of summer: glad to be done with this season, sad for summer's waning.


So many gone so recently, and will I see them again? No. So many kinds of death, and the absence of those we love takes its time filling its space. And who am I to exhibit sadness? The most basic level of gratitude is that of taking the next breath, and the next. No severed spinal cords, no wasted body. Not here. No slow sinking in a bathtub, the water rising above the final gasp.

My current obsession with hydrangeas will go on until every purple, blue & burgundy has faded from every drooped stem. For this moment -- right now -- they contain everything I need.


  1. I can never remember the name 'Hydrangea'. So I have to think of 'Mad dogs and Englishmen', then 'Hydrophobia', then 'Hydrangea'.

  2. Fall always seems so sad to me. The long goodbye. It doesn't seem to bother the trees but for me it's a harbinger of the cold and the dark. I'm sad to day too. It's been a year of loss and learning. Take care.

  3. just want to say i am here with you, feeling much the same, and thank you for so beautifully putting it into words. here, take my hand...xo

  4. Cro, I'm the same way about the flower "cranesbill": liverwurst, lungwort, cranesbill.

    Go figure.

  5. Lillith, hard year for us both. But in mourning the passing of summer, the next thought that always comes to mind is the nesting aspect of fall/winter, which can be particularly comforting. I'm thinking homemade soup, long evenings of music and reading, slow glasses of wine....

  6. Angella, I can feel your presence, and I'm glad for it. I haven't commented much on your blog (or anyone's) lately, but I'm there checking in nearly every day. xo

  7. Funny, my post today is on grief.

    I love to see all the variations on your flowers still-life. You are working it out in the confines of that little scene.

    I also appreciate hearing that you are keeping it simple and being grateful because I know that's a big part of what gets you through. And the delight in the fall nesting; that's a hopeful future. I love the fall, even though it brings me wistful walks through dropped and decaying leaves, and early sunsets that turn into cold cold nights. It is time for hunkering down and enjoying the small things like soup and wine and a good book.


  8. Those photos are fantastic. I wish that I could print them out and spread them all around my desk to look at every day.

  9. T. I never used to like hydrangeas, and then I inherited one and have come to love it over the past decade. Funny how we change, isn't it ... I tend to like autumn, but it is the season of regrets and remembrance, especially of/for those close to us who are gone from our lives. Perhaps the Celts knew a thing or two with their celebration of samhein, onto which Christianity grafted All Souls' Day ... a time set aside to mourn and remember (as well as scare ourselves silly with ghost tales.)