Busy Autumn

This is a busy time of year here. We've torn out the vegetable garden, a little disappointed that we didn't get more out of it -- than many lessons learned, of course. We are going to move the garden next year, to a place where it will get the morning sun for about six hours, then dappled afternoon sun. Maybe I won't have to haul water so much.

One of the small victories from the greenhouse was a batch of purple millet seedlings. Their purple seed heads were a very pleasant surprise. We transplanted them to garden on the other side of the driveway, down by the purple butterfly bush. I can see them down there in several years, growing and spreading, their reddish-purple plumes waving in the breeze.

Then the walnuts began to drop off the trees. And limbs began to fall. And we have had to pick up nuts and limbs. I had a fleeting thought that I try to teach Cat to pick them up or roll them toward the pile we build every year. Alas, Cat is not trainable.

I've been working very happily on another book. This one is a little edgier than I usually write, but I'm probably the only one who can see that. I'm usually about as edgy as a down pillow.
I have two other books percolating in my mind, the sequels to CRICKET'S MOON, which will be published late next year, about the same time as the unrelated short book THAT SPECIAL SOMEONE.

I wish I were too busy to worry, but there is so much exterior tension at the moment, I guess there is no way to avoid worrying about the economy, the election, and winter coming on. I knew a woman once who used to say that she refused to worry. "I do think about things, though," she would say.