Trick Or Treat

 We'll leave the light on for you.

 

" By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes,
Open, locks,
Whoever knocks ".
 
Shakespeare / Macbeth 1606

 

 

 

 

Simple Pleasures

"The real things haven't changed. It is still best to be honest and truthful; to make the most of what we have; to be happy with simple pleasures; and have courage when things go wrong."

                                                         ~ Laura Ingalls Wilder

Still Bloomin'

With milder than normal temperatures, these few early weeks of Autumn, the Morning Glory vines are still blooming their little hearts out.

This Grandpa Ott variety, returns year after year, without any help from the gardener.
The vines wrap their tendrils around the weathered-wood fence, and grace us with beauty, all summer long.

The flowers are a sumptuous Royal Blue trumpet with a contrasting purple star.
A strikingly beautiful combination.
Not quite the Autumn palette, yet nevertheless, we'll enjoy their presence until the first freeze of the season, and then it's " show-over ".

 

  

Barnyard Folly

When your artsy-daughter feels the need to add more barnyard friends to her menagerie.

Barnwood creations.

 

Cottage Love

A cottage small be mine, with porch

Enwreathed with ivy green,

And brightsome flowers with dew-filled bells,

'Mid brown old wattles seen.

And one to wait at shut of eve,

With eyes as fountain clear,

And braided hair, and simple dress,

My homeward step to hear.

On summer eves to sing old songs,

And talk o'er early vows,

While stars look down like angels' eyes

Amid the leafy boughs.

When Spring flowers peep from flossy cells,

And bright-winged parrots call,

In forest paths be ours to rove

Till purple evenings fall.

The curtains closed, by taper clear

To read some page divine,

On winter nights, the hearth beside,

Her soft, warm hand in mine.

And so to glide through busy life,

Like some small brook alone,

That winds its way 'mid grassy knolls,

Its music all its own.

Love in a Cottage ~ Daniel Henry Deniehy 1828-1865

                                                            

Slowly Changing

 

 “Autumn...the year's last, loveliest smile."
~ John Howard Bryant

 

 

 

Autumn has well and truly arrived.

Cold frost-laden nights, and sun shining brighter than a new penny by day.

Flower pots are emptied and stacked in the potting shed, and leaves are continually raked.

Hearty stews and soups have taken the place of lighter fare, and the fireplace has been lit more than once, this past week.

I entered this world on a cool autumn evening, day's such as this are like a coming home of sorts, a kinship to my genetic roots.

Time For Tea ....

When you are raised in a culture of hot tea-drinkers, from the time you are old enough to enjoy a  milked-down version in your baby bottle, through infancy and youth and young adulthood.

Continuing throughout your life into senior days, you rarely pay any attention to your daily habits until someone points them out.

The first thing that most English people do when people stop by the house, is to put the kettle on. Tea mostly, or coffee if you prefer, it's embedded in our DNA.
We were watching re-runs of Downton Abbey today, I couldn't help but smile as I watched the offer of "tea ?" being suggested at every twist and turn. 

When a visitor drops by, when good news is received, after bad news is received, when a helping hand is needed, or a little encouragement is welcomed.

 

Tea drinking in many cultures is the centuries-old tradition and universal language of civility, and social nurturing, a little more partaking these days would be a good thing.

"THE CUP FOR ME.

"Let others sing the praise of wine,

Let others deem its joys divine,

Its fleeting bliss shall ne'er be mine,

Give me a cup of tea!

The cup that soothes each aching pain,

Restores the sick to health again,

Steals not from heart, steals not from brain,

A friend when others flee.

"When sorrow frowns, what power can cheer,

Or chase away the falling tear

Without the vile effects of beer,

Like Pekoe or Bohea?

What makes the old man young and strong,

Like Hyson, Congou, or Souchong,

Which leave the burthen of his song

A welcome cup of tea.

"Then hail the grave Celestial band,

With planning mind, and planting hand,

And let us bless that golden land

So far across the sea;

Whose hills and vales give fertile birth

To that fair shrub of priceless worth,

Which yields each son of mother earth

A fragrant cup of tea."

Seasons Changing

Over the last couple of days, the remains of hurricane Delta has taken away our sunshine.

The dark clouds linger overhead, making for dark and dreary days. If I didn't know the difference I would think we were in the depths of winter, even the house has taken on a different hue.

The days are noticeably shorter,  dark by 7:00pm now, the wild turkeys lead their flocks to the nightly roost late afternoon, and the last of the hummingbirds are leaving for their winter homes.

Orange pumpkins and Chrysanthemums are replacing summer blooms, now fading fast.

 

 

Missing You

How I miss this beautiful face, it would have been his kitty-birthday today.

Happy Birthday in the land of the Rainbow Bridge, to my precious boy, you are missed beyond words.

💔

Rain-Filled

Our day is dark and rain-filled, the looming remnants of Hurricane Delta .

It's hard to imagine the destruction a fierce storm unleashes on the coastline, when inland, it's remains fall softly to the parched ground, a welcomed sign of relief.

The house-painters worked on the outside of our home yesterday, not the best timing with a hurricane looming in the Gulf, but we've been on the waiting list for quite some time now.

Beggars can't be choosers.

 

Holding On

The arbor- trellis roses are still blooming their little hearts out.

Perfect sunny days, and mist-laden, cool nights, affording them once last chance at a flush of beauty, before the first frost appears.

'Tis the last rose of summer

Left blooming alone;

All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone;

No flower of her kindred,

No rosebud is nigh,

To reflect back her blushes,

To give sigh for sigh.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!

To pine on the stem;

Since the lovely are sleeping,

Go, sleep thou with them.

Thus kindly I scatter,

Thy leaves o'er the bed,

Where thy mates of the garden

Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,

When friendships decay,

From Love's shining circle

The gems drop away.

When true hearts lie withered

And fond ones are flown,

Oh! who would inhabit,

This bleak world alone?

The Last Rose of Summer:  Thomas Moore 1805

 

Pottering

A little early Halloween decorating....

Just to get in the "spirit" of things.