It's nearly ten past five, and the lights of sunset are still in the sky, and it'll still be light ten, twenty minutes from now - light enough to see by, anyway. The sun still hangs low in the sky by four PM but even that's changing. The days, they are growing longer. The light is still winterlight, cool sun, barely able to warm the nip that's still in the air, we had frost last night and it was heavy enough to turn roofs and roadsides white and I had to scrape ice off my windshield when we left home this morning. But even that is changing, slowly. I am kind of looking forward to spring, if only because spring is so damned spectacular over here, with everything bursting into extravagant bloom - and my bulbs are all already poking their snouts out and sniffing at the air and I'll have snowdrops in a couple of weeks and daffodils and hyacinths a couple of weeks after that and tulips all the way into April - and then there's the rhodies, and then there's the lilacs, and then there's the dogwood, and perhaps my peonies will deign to flower this year...
My garden. Mine. I made it. Everything that's in it *I* put there.
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.