We’ll see tomorrow how the little greenhouse caterpillar has weathered the cold: the high is expected to be 27, the low tonight 7, our first single digit forecast of the season. Yesterday in stinging cold, I cut back all the arugula, grown big again, rinsed and drained it, packed it in the fridge, in the absence of olive oil. Today I’ll drive up the road and pick up olive oil from my almost-nextdoor neighbor, who will get fresh arugula in exchange. I won’t open the greenhouse today. A thin coating of ice and snow is melting in spartan sun; the winter garden’s first test with inclement weather.
The morning-glories continue to delight in an unexpected way. The temperature dropped so precipitously yesterday as rain turned to show and drops froze dripping off of dead leaves.
The mountains kept disappearing and emerging from fog and snows with brilliant interplay of light and shadow.
I moved here, to this remote colorado plateau, this neighborly mesa, for one reason only: to cultivate peace of mind. I followed my instinct, I trusted my intuition, I moved here in order to cultivate peace of mind. I knew that here, I might find the space and time to follow one thought through to the end. And what thought is that? Who am I? Why am I here?