The seedheads are small, maybe the size of a quarter, but something about their branches makes me think these might be some relative of yarrow.

Because the weather has still refused to produce snow, I couldn’t get any nice sharp shadows of these against a white ground. Someday.

On the other hand, the children playing outside seem perfectly happy to shriek and frolic, and the squirrels are stalking one another up and down the trees.  Some good comes of almost everything.

Theory of the Origin, Evolution, and Nature of Life

Right.

It wasn’t until mid-January that the asters finally gave up on blooming — the suntrap out back keeps everything more temperate, and the weather hadn’t really gone into the 20F range before then.

This, to a Northerner, is utterly ridiculous, but here we are….

Then finally some snow and ice arrived, and the asters went from being “winter interest” to “winter spectacular”!

Special thanks to WordTapestry for the new tripod that made this shot possible…

Okay, not a lot of content, but a start.

Here we go

Down…

40, 30, 29 –

Back to 50 with the sunlight may not save you,

solitary harvesters; in fact,

maybe you’re already gone.

I cannot help, except

to plant what blooms early,

what blooms late,

stocking spring’s larder for your family.

Those transitions were expected.  And given that the holidays of endings and new beginnings were rolling around, I had some other commemorations on my mind.

However — I wasn’t expecting to lose a friend I’d only been talking to days before. Yes, his voice had been labored during our last few conversations; he insisted it was a touch of bronchitis…yes there were other health issues that probably meant four-score and ten were unlikely. But I expected to be kvetching with him about academia, politics, and fine food for many years to come. He was someone I could disagree with, test ideas against, and along the way we could each see a bit more of why someone would hold opposing views.  People like that are so very valuable — and unfortunately it’s increasingly easy to never meet them, since so many of us gravitate to places where our ideas are affirmed rather than respectfully challenged.  To be honest, I didn’t meet him on purpose — his presence in my life was a gift from a friend of mine from graduate school, who, to bring the circle around, gave me the news yesterday evening.  Part of me hoped it was some elaborate Halloween prank, but the obit has just posted….

Travel well, William.  You have earned your rest.

Not so much a matter of location, but of mental space.  One of the side effects of reorganizing papers is rediscovering the nautilus shell, each time with a new bit of identity thread tied to your leg as you work through every whorl and chamber.  The ‘me’ that was in graduate school suddenly brushes against the drawings from kindergarten, thanks to my parents’ careful saving of EVERYTHING.  The ‘me’ that studied Shakespeare and typed in WordPerfect finds ads for companies that don’t exist anymore, singers who should never have gone to Nashville, tiny chipped pots from foreign lands, and carefully-framed pictures of nameless ancestors.

Where does it all go?

What matters? What needs to leave?

What can be acknowledged, thanked, and sent on its way?

Who do I get to be next?