Tonight the wind is howling, the last of the fall colors swirling into knee deep drifts of crisp confetti against the garden gate.  But it’s ok, we’ve hunkered down, everyone that’s coming in is tucked – the last burst of geranium admired on the mantle, and the usual suspects stowed away in their winter places.


The protective little cases keep the roving predators from getting into trouble, and downstairs, seedlings and other hangers-on huddle around the grow lights as if warming at a campfire, waiting for dawn.  So howl all you like, old man.  5 months and we’re done with you.

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