It is that time of year when I am torn between inside and out—between my comfy bathrobe and a mound of pillows on the bed/and a chilly fading of daylight in the patio, where one adventurous geranium blossom has ventured forth today; between the silence of the house/and the sporting of the neighbor out back with dog and goats; between a half an hour with a book (but which?) while the clay pot chicken reheats, the rosemary tinging the air/and a little cloud-gazing, vinca-appreciation; between stirring up some bread with pumpkin seeds and hemp, sunflower seeds and flax, and maybe a smidgen of fennel or cumin or cardamom/and sitting still out in the growing dusk collecting impressions in a notebook.
An indecisive month—lion or lamb? Forwards or back? Sad or happy? And why decide, why not putter or poodle between one thing and the next, at will or whim, leaving the windows open and the fire (if I had one) lit?
image: Christie B. Cochrell, Oranges through Screen (Santa Monica, 2011)