It's the time of year when midday residential silence is interrupted by the smack of acorns onto the sidewalk, one every so often. Oaks and Apple trees are making their presence known to those of us who walk with head down. Also, there is a bright green thing to be seen on the door step, garden trellis, or windowsill. These are an underripe tomato placed there to redden, by women like my mother, with a nonchalance artful and loving; this is the true joy in life.

 

Also: the Labrador Tea leaves I grabbed to throw in my barrel at that crash site on the Winnipeg river. They lingered down there unheeded but appreciated; the light touch; the graceful hold on life. Maybe I'll pick them out when I'm done and put them in a Ziplock bag.

Also: I picked one of those beautiful hydrangea flowers that dries just as beautiful as it started on the branch - sort of pink - the kind of thing that looks great sitting on a windowsill with a dead moth and some dust needs sweeping. That has been lingering in my bike basket waiting to be relocated - also one that has already made it to my windowsill and fallen so that the cat, I think, ate it.

Also: I thought of this because I grabbed a leaf as I was passing by and it happened to be a mutated leaf - two in one - a sort of heart shape, or perhaps diverging paths...if I believed in omens this would be a big deal: "I am about to make a mistake," I was already thinking, biking to the university to meet Lilly.

Now it is in the bike basket also, with the hydrangea. We'll see how it fares.