on yardwork and pinkish light.

she told me not to worry about cleaning, and i haven't, not yet, not inside. but the afternoon was ripe with sunshine, and the sky as blue as a promise, so i headed out into the yard for a bit of tidying up.



famous people are slotted to show up at chez owens tomorrow.

about an hour, five yellowed hostas, four tomato plants, two unidentified stickly bushes, and sixty armfuls of leaves later, i surveyed the yard and realized two things:
1. it looked remarkably the same as when i'd started. it's like the yard absorbed my efforts and channeled them into its personal demonstration of ugly.
2. ten thousand leaves with a side of dead isn't enough to scare shannan off. she's made of stern stuff, that girl.

plus 3. the sun was doing its pinkish glaze thing, that age-old hurrah before checking out for the night. and while i know i should be immune to its siren song by now, i'm reeled in like a suckerfish every time. so i abandoned my yardworkingness to pop into the house, sock-skate down the hall, and head back out properly girded with a camera.









so at the end of the day i cannot boast a tidy lawn, but i do have additional footage of my inexplicable enthusiasm for bushes and trees. (which you'd think would calm down a bit given their connection to my leaf problem, but nope. still going strong.)

see you tomorrow, shan. ours will be the house with the lifetime supply of browned foliage out front.