The garden is preparing for the new year. I wish I was as good at change as my garden is. Effortlessly, the shrubs and plants begin to turn yellow and gold and as I let hips form, all seems so well with the world in Bellemaison. The bright, clear, still light turns the remaining leaves and petals translucent and the birds gangrush the euchinea, dogwood, and magnolia for one last unfettered feed before it's time to go. Soon the roses will sport high dirt collars, then with the snow, will be entombed until after St. Patrick's Day, snowy mounds holding the secrets of next summer. The daylillies have already lost their long mangy yellow manes to the Felcos and now sport the good sense layers of pine needles. They hydrangeas wave in the wind magenta and green, at a loss for leaves. The lavendar has been buzzed, with the gathered up remains earmarked for little Christmas gift-projects that will unfold around the kitchen table when the winter winds howl and swirl through the memories, ambitions, plans and consolation that is Bellemaison. The Chows' coat is thick and lush at their skin and my bike comes in under the porch for additional protection. It's now here again, that change that begins the moment you get that very first tooth.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA