Yesterday began draped in mist. I stood outside in my sweater, tea in one hand, and listened to the trees in the ravine dripping. Everything else was silent. The perbs looked like a primeval forest in miniature.
A few hours later, the sun had turned everything melon-gold, and I was outside again, again with tea, though this time wearing a vest (or, as I’m supposed to call it in this country, a tank top). I alternated between reading a page of an M.R. James story (“The Rose Garden”) and tipping my head back to watch the curly willow tremble with the weight of birds flicking in and out of its foliage while I thought about Hild.
When I’d finished my tea (and the story), I went back inside, turned on Freedom, and wrote nine hundred words of Hild.
Then I drank beer with Kelley, ate a most marvellous spaghetti bolognese–the perbs made it taste so rich I could hardly believe it was our old, faithful recipe–and watched another episode of Glee.
As I type this, the forecast for the day is more fog, burning off in the afternoon to reveal, well, clouds. But, hey, there might be sun (it’s Seattle, anything is possible) and, besides, there’s Hild. Lots of lovely Hild. I am in serious danger of dying of delight. I hope your September days are proving as fine as mine. Smiling…
Nicola Griffith 
yes. i now come here for a daily positive attitude adjustment. perspective. thanks.
Mist in a primeval forest sounds awesome. Right now we're having unending baking tan prairie, wich I like for awhile, but I'm ready for a change . . .
Soon the aspen in the mountains will be turning, though — imagine whole craggy mountainsides splashed with random streaks of gold and occasional orphaned reds as far as the eye can see :).
Anon@6:32, you're welcome. Though sometimes my attitude can turn…
Jo, that kind of vista is quite unknown to me. I imagine it would feel rather alien. I'm from a mild climate, where something is always green and the weather won't kill you if you get caught out in it–or very rarely.
The city has green enough, but there's a difference between lush green and as-much-as-you-can-afford-to-water green. People have been saying how 'green' the prairie is right now – we had a couple of wet nights about three weeks back – but anyone from your climate would find the statement ludicrous. It's more tan with a green cast to it. We do have lots of evergreens, of course, but besides that once you get to winter, everything is in shades of brown. It's pretty drab, but the intense sky blues you get in a dry climate help make up for it.
I can't imagine living where it's wet — that is totally alien to me (though I think I'd enjoy it immensely).
September is good here, spring mildening the days and deliriously happy birds singing all day at work. I'm working with stone fruit trees at the moment, putting the bare-rooted leftover stock into 10″ pots and feeling the delight of blossom petals in my hair. And full of content knowing that Hild is busy over on your side of the planet…
Ah, blossom sounds very pleasant. I find I'm already looking forward to spring.
Jude, Jo, Nicola — We've got 70's and 80° (25-30 C°) days here in Atlanta still. In my yard I've got phlox, Stone Mountain daisies, chives, ageratum, and hardy begonias blooming, as well as gardenias putting on a second bloom. Fritillary (butterfly) caterpillars have just about stripped the passion flower vines to the bone. There'll be saffron crocus and asters and chrysanthemums joining in over the next month as the leaves begin to turn.
Atlanta is fecund in quite a different way to Seattle. I still miss the spring there, especially at night.
I miss the sound of crickets and frogs in the air on a summer night and lightning bugs blinking in the distance.