Twilight

Yesterday I had the rare (for me) occasion to be up at WeMoon just after the sun had set, in the greenish half-light just as the trees began to blend into a dark wall and the ground seemed an uncertain distance from my feet. Two huge moonflowers, white and delicate like fine china saucers, were opening to the sky above, but most of the garden seemed to be at rest in the relative obscurity of twilight. It was far from chilly last night, but there was something that felt wintery in my visit. It was easy for me to imagine the winter plantings -- crimson Swiss Chard, velvety collards, dark and shiny spinach, fragrant parsley -- crisp and full and splendid in the coming months. They have all made an appearance, most with no more than their two little pre-leaves. But the transformation is afoot. Seasons change, and as slowly and mildly as we feel that in our little part of the world, the garden seems to know it intuitively, and gives us signs of what is to come.