Monday, 12 September 2011

Harvest Moon

It's wild tonight. The wind is rattling our catflap, and the buddleah outside our window is dancing an unhibited fandango. If I stand outside, I'm feeling the same atoms of air which were slapping into Carribbean coastlines yesterday. I like that.
The moon is so bright; she's currently skirting our neighbour's rooftop.
Ocasionally she grabs a passing cloud, like a shy nudist grabbing a handtowel, but mostly she's out there, shining, proud and very distracting.
I'm trying not to worry about my greenhouse. It's my den-in-the-making, Mrs Moon's retreat down on the allotment plot.
A wooden bench gently releases woody and resiny smells, which mingle with the tomato plants. Baby aubergines are ripening and an over-optimistic melon is flowering, but will probably never bear fruit. The chillis need more light, but are gently fruiting.

The greenhouse was my rather unconventional 40th birthday present last year. It suffered a disaster last storms with an unexpected chair to it's frame from a nbeighbouring plot.
I hope it survives this storm.
The drama of the wind, tail end of a hurricane, combined with the extrovert moon is making me antsy and angsty. I know it's not life or death. I know we will all survive. A broken frame, a few raspberry canes down. But something primal makes me nervous about the racket, the rattlings and the wild rumpus outside.
But tonight I must content myself with watching from my window.....

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