Of green dreams and grey skies

Blue sky chases grey

Dragging puffs of white

Red and orange ride the wind

Covering bare brown earth

I was feeling poetical while planting bulbs earlier today, and those phrases kept drifting through my mind.

 The air was just crisp enough to be sharp but not unpleasant -  a Granny Smith apple sort of afternoon.  The sun couldn't seem to decide if it wanted to shine unfettered and joyous, or to take on a more muted demeanor. As I dug holes, dreaming ahead of the delight that comes from watching plants break free of the earth in Spring, I'd have my vest on, chilled by the overcast sky, only to have to take it off again when the sun grew bold once more. 

There was snow yesterday.  Barely enough to be called snow, but it landed too heavily on your shoulder to be called rain, so the pepper plants - elegant with arching branches, decorated with tiny red jewels - stayed in the garage all day. It look like there are a dozen young peppers growing still, and we're trying to keep the plants alive long enough for the peppers to ripen.  

Our very own Thai chillis! Year two of gardening has produced mostly squirrel fodder but not much for human consumption, so these fiery red beauties are precious to us. Next year might bring garlic and onions to our table, for I defy those long-tailed fiends to feast on such a harvest.

The flower bed continues to provide contentment, though it no longer produces blooms. Its beauty is less obvious now, more muted, quieter, and yet it remains a lovely thing, offering shapes and structures not evident in the dizzying time of growth and blossoms. There is purpose in the seed heads and folliage for life goes on in the garden, though flowers are gone.

The time is right and good for sleep, for plants and people. Let's hibernate, recouperate, and dream dreams of a green tomorrow.