It had to happen. The last of the zinnia’s. The last of everything. This is when seasonal affective disorder sets in, DEPRESSION, really, let’s call it what it is. The blazing brilliance of fall doesn’t cheer like a smiling zinnia or sunflower tall tall big head full of seeds, or a ground cherry fresh, ripe yellow and juicy. Fall leaves turn to mold, damp with stench of decay, compost. mushrooms rotting.

All the while I work through summer with an apprehension toward fall, everyone’s beloved season, and I’m agitated. I need to hibernate deep in down covers and dark to sleep the end of fall and all of winter. I like snow, once. Or twice. Grey is one of my favorite colors in textile. I fill our home with colour, cheer, joy, yet it’s cold, pillowing bright drab outside

I have my beach mind and garden thoughts to carry me through. Laughter from students silly with ferment and those fresh frozen green beans, canned tomatoes, jam up on shelves so high