Fallen Sunday

A standstill. I find myself turning to soft, velvety clothes, waking up the fireplace and wood-burning ovens, lighting candles at noon. Rainfalls follow one another; in between, there are glimpses of sun and soft, noticeably cooler breezes of what is about to become fall air. No one remembered to tell the lavenders, dahlias, and sunflowers that the weather is changing. They are blooming like it’s mid-July, growing strong and letting out a flower or ten or twenty per day. It’s our first year, so there’s so much learning ahead for us all.