The rain has moved elsewhere today. I’m sitting in the backyard swing. The cat slowly emerged from his hiding place under the blackberry vines which have turned bright scarlet and puce. The chard stems have decided to turn red like rhubarb and the now bare peach tree invites close inspection of its branches, the better to study just how and where the pruning will need to be done in a few months.

The calendulas refuse to die and have four defiant yellow blossoms while the feverfew grows bright lime green despite the season. The sky is blue except for a few wispy clouds. The sun feels good on my back.

It’s kind of amazing to have such mild weather in December. But with the sun beaming away and balmy temperatures, it eliminates the excuse to stay inside and bake cookies all day. I can’t blame the weather, and sit by the fireplace (even if it is a gas one). For the fact is, if I was willing, I could be finishing the cleanup in the garden. Instead I sit here scribbling about other things.

The appointment I thought I had today was canceled and since I had set the day aside for that, I find that I am at loose ends. It’s hard to change horses in mid stream as they say.

The high clouds are shifting from feathers to sheets of what looks like sand at the shore. When I look away for a few minutes, the whole scene changes, but if I watch, they seem to stand still as if to say…. “Who me?
Change? That’s absurd! It must be your imagination…”

Perverse vapors.

I guess I’ll go inside and see if I can get some things done. Although what that will be, I cannot say. If I’m not careful, I am going to get a sunburn out here.

It would make so much more sense to live where winter really means it.
And imposes it’s will over our own and makes us stay inside and take care of the clutter in our closets and forces us by sheer frigid air power to organize our photo albums. But this impostor looks just like the cheap imitation he is…a half hearted frost now and then, a few drops of rain, a little insincere breeze. Followed by a day like this.

Bah, I can’t believe it, I half feel like planting pansies.

It’s December for heaven’s sake. Where’s the snow?

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