the blue muse

Mostly, I forgot to look at my garden this month. Well, it wasn’t so much that I forgot, it was more that my nose was chained to the grindstone, and looking up wasn’t always an option. But the monkshood, planted right outside my studio window, has stood by me all month, shining in my favorite color, against a backdrop of gone-the-perfect-shade-of-orange hydrangea leaves.

The perfect slice of autumn—framed where I can’t possibly miss it.

Last night, the almost-full October moon went dancing through a shroud of cloud, and in my heart, I danced along with it. During busy days like these, sometimes the only time I spend outside is when I take the dog out, or walk to the road to get the mail. I hang onto those moments, breathing in the air that smells like my favorite season, crisp frost atop loamy leaves, smoky nights and apple-cheeked days.

The tall grasses I’d planned to cut down are still standing, mocking me with waves of pleasure in the wind. Oh well. Another year, perhaps. They’re still here, I’m still here and it’s raining again.

But look at that color, that life, that moon.

These cycles that keeps my life on track even when they become rote, even when I forget to notice.

This monkshood that waits for me every year, standing quietly by my side all summer, holding the garden’s last gift.

I am grateful, old friend, I am grateful.

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