My garden. Mine. I made it. Everything that's in it *I* put there.
My roots.
My home.
My seasons changing.
I was going to blog something holding-fortherly and writerly and such, but perhaps tomorrow. Today, I'm just content to watch the sky being painted by pink and amethyst, and the twilight settling over everything, leaching all colour away from the trees and the ground and turning all into soft shades of gray. Watching the fall of night.