untitled seasonal stream of consciousness

Let's connect some dots and see if anything hangs together. It's moving day at the office, Halloween in the suburbs, Samhain in the forest, All Saints Day in the Church, el Dia de los Muertos en Mexico, and the end of Daylight Saving Time in the U.S. of A.

So what?

It is time to turn a corner. Take a look back and move resolutely forward. Put the nonhardy plants like spider lilies in the cellar for the winter, because we will have a hard freeze before you know it. The patio looks naked without them, but I want them to live and bloom again next year.

It's also an ideal time to get up on the garage roof and sweep off the leaves and pine needles, scoop the wet gunky debris out of the gutters, and liberate it all to the flower beds below. All of which was a tangent to the original task of replacing a sheet of metal roofing that blew off the shed more than a year ago in Hurricane Ike. Now it is nailed down nice and tight.

It was clear and cool today, so the wet sticks I stacked yesterday had a chance to dry, but you know that clear sky will make it colder tonight, so the dry kindling will come in handy starting the first fire of the season in the stove tonight.

The moon is full and very bright.

Gven and I ended a satisfactory Saturday of mowing, weeding, and breaking of sticks for kindling with a hearty meal of brots and a salad, with pauses to give out candy to dressed-up Methodistville street urchins on All Hallows Eve, one of the few times we have both been home to enjoy that neighborhood ritual. Tonight she made eggplant parmesan, which was perfect with bread and red wine.

The Yankees are beating up on the Phillies in game 4 of the World Series. I did catch one electric moment when Pedro Feliz took Joba Chamberlain deep, but I think the Yanks have too many horses.

Instead of going to church or open meditation this morning, I ended up at Jersey Universalist Church in rural Licking County, a tiny congregation I visited infrequently several years ago. I love the setting, for one thing, just off the old highway 161 at the edge of the village of Jersey, Ohio, east of New Albany, nestled in a grove of pine trees surrounding an old cemetery in front of a cornfield. About 12 people showed up for a service consisting of readings and open-ended commentary from the Book of Daniel. The imagery of Nebuchadnezzar's dream was fascinating: head of gold, chest of silver, belly of bronze, legs of iron, and feet of clay mixed with iron. I might have to visit again to discern its mystical meaning(s).

Afterward I drove up Mink Road to Jug Street and east to Alexandria through some of the prettiest rolling countryside in central Swingstate, then west toward Methodistville on Central College Road, confirming my desire to bike that way some time. But when will the stars align, giving me three hours on a weekend with good weather?

Tomorrow I'll drive Hank the Ranger southeast instead of northwest and park myself in a different cube in a different building among a mostly different cast of charcters. Should be interesting to see how it plays out.