All day I worked in the garden finding the tasks that would not require repeating until spring. Weeds starting to seed must be pulled. The thought of a thousand more of the same weed ready to sprout up when the rains come keeps me focused long hours. Cut off dead flowers, dead branches, anything brown that use to be green. Set some stones, pour some pebbles, mulch and take a little harvest for supper.
These plants can take the weather. Ice will form on the pond but the lily pads will come back, the cattail too. I find a few casualties from the dry summer but I leave them to find strength in their roots and make a come back. I move pots and garden art, sweep and watch a squirrel run away with a cone from the black pine. The light through the firs and cedars changes as the sun moves low. The color is a vibrant yellow. At dusk the sky turns purple.
only at this time
air makes a palette for fall
paints a new canvas
dVerse prompt to write haibun touching on light coming through the trees