Casting a spell

John and I were talking about the bewitching power of the farm 

and he cautioned me how addictive it can become. 

It's not surprising that you would want to return day after day 

during spring and summer. Besides needing to tend the plants,

 your curiosity is ripe (couldn't resist, sorry) to check the progress of what is growing. 

But, even now when the farm seems fallow and summer's bounty is just a tasty memory, there is something that draws you back. 

One recent misty morning, there was a hypnotic hush and a sense of anticipation. 

We had begun to clear the beds to get ready for the rototiller. 

Everything including the droplets of water clinging to the trees 

seemed suspended, waiting.

Just as John had warned me, I fell under the spell.

bare branches look like lace

an industrious spider had been here

I, also waited, and finally was rewarded with a bit of sunlight through the fog. 

Not quite the warm bath of light I had experienced a week ago 

but glimmers of light that perked everything up. 

Got me to meditating on how different the same thing can appear to be 

from one moment to the next.

This majestic Palm tree overlooks the lower beds
two different mornings in November.

There were not that many days between these photos of the persimmon tree

Last week John and Colby were eating juju berries off the lush tree

and then the last few cling to the branches
before a wind storm blew them all away.

As the warm amber light of Indian Summer changed
to the sharper golden rays of Autumn, 

we were harvesting winter squash and
enjoying the deep fall colors, grabbing those last green tomatoes
along with fennel, herbs and persimmon fruit. 

October and early November still had an easy and steady rhythm at the farm. 

But now the pace quickens—taking our cue from the squirrels and birds 
that dart around—each day brings sharp contrasts.

Squash blossom in November hoping there is still time...

The persimmon leaves herald autumn

Celestial Figs glisten with wintery frost

All of this happening within a week or so at the farm.

I can't get the images out of my mind.

These cycles are hypnotic indeed,
beckoning me to return to see what is—and is not still there.