My sweet feline friend Annabelle left us ten days ago. She died quickly and without help, and I buried her with Wolfie’s ashes, since they were such good buddies, and planted a beautiful crabapple tree over them.

They’re just outside the kitchen window, so I can chat to them when I wash the dishes, if I feel so inclined.

I’ve been thinking about the things Annabelle loved. Sun spots. Cut flowers. Getting her fur combed. The couch. Jerk chicken. And me. I was so lucky to have her with me for so many years.

We had a gentle, slow-moving weekend. Some of us read a novel and watched orange leaves moving against blue sky, after the rain had stopped.

Some of us found new places to nap.

I cut up an amazing heirloom Goldman’s Italian American tomato from the garden to make what may be the last bruschettas of the season.

And enjoyed them very much.

Wolfie died on August 1st. He had been sick for several months so it was no surprise, but after living with him for 17 years I felt abruptly cut loose.

The following week I brought his ashes home in a little cardboard box with a label that read, “This is Wolfie. The companion of Estyn Hulbert.” — which I find strangely compelling. Tightly fitted inside was another box, this one made of something solid and mahogany-colored with a beveled edge at the top.

I had thought I would bury his ashes right away, but the box is still sitting on my studio desk and I can’t bring myself to spread his remains in the damp fall earth. Maybe I’ll wait until spring, when the dampness promises warmth and growth instead of dark days and freezing. Wolfie spent his final years being an old grump of a feline, so I think I’ll plant a crabapple tree over him, in honor of his crabbyness.

The household feels lopsided without him but Annabelle, Maxie, Noola and I are slowly adjusting. Extra love. Extra kindness. For all of us.

Thanks to Jennie for pointing me to this. My kind of artist.

I COULD HAVE DONE THIS.. from Briar Mark on Vimeo.

Watch this.

Found via White Feather Farm.

Finally. Other than the big snow dump in late October we’ve barely had a dusting of the white stuff. I thought it might be an entire winter of bare earth. But now this.

Walking out of the village we watched children sliding down the good slope at the country club, and one teenager attempting to ride his snow board with little success. The trees stood out in monochrome, each one clearly showing its unique structure.

We turned around at the house with the “BEWARE OF DOG” signs (that always make me think of this) and hiked back up the steep hill, feeling virtuous and looking forward to hot tea.

I was wondering where to start up again after a long break from the blog, then I was given this magnet.

Right. Anywhere is good.

Yesterday I had the door open and all day in the background was the sound of leaves rustling across the ground. Labor Day brought with it the orange undertone that creeps into everything green. Even the light is getting that low angled rust color to it and the squirrels and I are rushing to hoard the end of summer bounty.

In among tomatoes of every shape and size, the first little Benning’s Patty Pan squash. Fresh light green, to remind me that in the not too distant future it will all start over with spring.

Irene blew through here and we were without power and water for a couple of days.

We were lucky compared to many, but we did get a little swimming pool in the basement, so there’s been some throwing out of damaged things, and a lot of laying stuff out to dry.

Being without hot water for four days sure makes me grateful for my shower now that it’s back.

Mornings are the low point of my day. I have wisps of dreams and their strange worlds left in my mind and it takes me a while to get going. The best approach is to move slowly, and to “take the day gentle”. When I do, I notice things. Moments of light. Subtle, constant changes that bring me into the current moment.

Seems the shadows aren’t only in my head, but moving all around me.