close bosom-friend of the maturing sun

It's autumn. The Cape is all bracing and crisp, with a shiver in the evenings and a particular pale clarity to the sunlight. Things are dying down, tucking in for winter. Planting vegetables at this time of the year as a result of renovation delays is doomed, hopeless, will never work. Right? Yes? Right?



Um. Someone give my veggie boxes the memo. On account how how they're all going "sproing." I mean, it's a sheltered, sunny courtyard, but this is ridiculous. (That mutant squash thing is self-seeded, and has giant yellow blossoms under all those leaves).

Also, someone give Hobbit the memo that says he's not allowed on the dining room table, even through it's beautifully situated for afternoon sun.



No? Oh, well, then. At least he's decorative.