scribbled notes

The night is chilly, hip hop on surround sound, and I’m toasty warm. Eves on the patio sitting and sipping are over for the season. ~sigh~ My journal is filled with notes scribbled during warmer temps and I shall attempt a brief description.

Lets see...

The usual rant of retiree and lawn mowers on Friday afternoons as soon as I arrive home from work.

The ongoing battle between squirrels and chipmunks, each thinking they are bigger than the other and deserve feed set out for birds.

Decompressing from the insane work week. I’m in need of a therapist if it keeps up.

Two weeks prepping and freezing tomato based veggie sauce, pesto, and veggies enough to fill the freezer over winter when prices are triple.

Making the biggest decision of my life and its repercussions not on me but my co-worker family. Hasta la vista worka.

Replanting the garden to fill in here and there, combining colours and forms; painting without a pallet.

The sounds and sights of various birds; nuthatches flutter with a deck of cards being shuffled, blue jays announce their presence then soar so silently and gracefully, sparrows zoom into the undergrowth then pop out to the seed pile.

Music, o the music I programme depending on my mood. Soft cello to flamingo guitar; motown to hip-hop, it all depends on the silence of the hood and which notes my mind needs to unwind to.

Fungi, such fun fungi has grown in my garden with monsoons. Humongous brown mushrooms, morals, and so pretty freckled white ‘srooms.

Weekends of locals with chainsaws decimating their properties of trees then to spend the next day with wood chippers. I would sooner listen to dental instruments then to those.

The ongoing battle with neighbourhood cats though banned in this town their owners let them roam preying on birds. I’ve buried enough birds and unfortunately not enough cats.

Colours of trees normally various shades of green are now glorious in golds, reds and yellows. It is the most beautiful time of the year. Leaves showing their best before they fade into skeletons then into the earth.

Half painted canvases awaiting for the brush to sweep.

Hunters Full Moon illuminated the garden and of course illuminated my sleep. O such a pain this time of year when sleep comes in two hours of on and off. No wonder I’m cranky.

With decisions made and a new turn of the moon life should ease up and my creativity return.