I am not made for Summer. Through those three months, I am only half alive, dragging myself along through the lists of things to do. Once in awhile my head will lift up when I see a butterfly go past. They are so fragile. So wonderfully, marvelously fragile, and their lives are so short. I watch as their wings become tattered and their colors fade. Soon, I'll find them places where they ought not be. Dead. Why were they created if they only live for so short a time? Sometimes I think they must have been created for people like me.



This year, I was out working in the front flowerbed late one evening when three hummingbirds decided to keep my company. I was working right below the butterfly bush which was what they were attracted to. It didn't matter how close I was. After a few minutes of watching me from an old dead tree on the corner of the lawn, they came near and drank. Most of the time we only have fly by hummingbirds. One second they're in our yard, and the next second they are gone. Never three at once.


Sometimes I forget my dislike of Summer and marvel at the incredible way things grow in spite of the heat (except for this year. This year everything in the growing department stunk. Except the volunteer cosmos growing where they weren't suppose to. Of course). I guess, besides butterflies, gardens are what makes Summer worthwhile to me. Gardens and lots and lots of flowers. I probably would have been swallowed whole if my garden produced like previous years (except last year because of the drought we had), but it might have been worth it. A garden isn't suppose to be a depressing place. This is a picture of last year's. I have no idea what was this year's problem was. This drought garden does not look shabby at all, though...I honestly forgot what it looked like.


Next week we're suppose to have the first frost. The day after the first frost is a bit of a downer. I always dread it usually, but not this year. There isn't honestly anything worthy of mourning if it freezes.

Now, as the first bits of Autumn sneak in, I am coming back alive. There is just something so invigorating. So fresh. So stimulating about Autumn. Maybe I feel this way because I was born in Autumn, but with that logic, I should also like mornings since I was born then, but I don't. Well, I don't necessarily not like mornings. It's just the getting up part.

I love every bit of Autumn (minus the frost). I love jackets. And hot cocoa. And my wrist warmers. I love doing more cooking and baking and writing (hopefully) and other kinds of work. I love the leaves changing colors. The smell of woodstoves. Remembering apple harvest time when I was younger and my grandpa still had orchard. They would pick the apples the week of my birthday which is later than most growers pick their apples, but my grandpa used to wait until his Goldens were actually ripe. They were so delicious. There won't ever be any apples as good as his.

One of my big brothers, my grandma, and me out in the orchard during springtime. Still got that hat.