Change.  Small word; infinite application.  It is both instant and ongoing.  Today in the garden, it is ending and beginning.  It’s a small cycle of life and death.  Each year this change endures.  Summer to autumn; autumn to winter; winter to spring.  And now spring to summer.  And I wonder what Summer will bring.

I write this on a new tablet.  They keyboard feels different and the commands too.  Change.  It suggests I write with a stylus pen that will automatically change my writing to type.  I love to journal even with my bad handwriting.  So I try it.  It doesn’t do the thing.  In fact, it tells me that it may be hard to read.  Rude.  Also…not helpful.  Quite possibly user error.  Change.

Copilot is installed on this machine.  I want it to stop giving me suggestions; I do appreciate its help with my new fascination regarding semi-colons though.  Technology is always changing, just as the seasons do.  The difference is that technology replaces and seldom looks back.  The seasons are predictable.  Their weather used to be.  Change.

It’s barely more than a week past the solstice; one of my favorite days of the year.  Spring is gone and summer has begun.  At least astronomically.  I stayed inside on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, and with my fireplace blazing that night.  It was cloudy and cool and not worth sitting outside until the last traces of light drowned under the horizon. 

Tonight is different.  The temperature has dropped from 74 to 67 degrees F.  I am sans jacket, and the sky is blue with light glowing up the tree leaves.  Still does not feel like summer.  That’s July 5^th as any proper Washingtonian knows.  But I do not want to go back inside.  I want to keep the natural light as long as I possibly can. 

A breeze picked up.  This break in programming is brought to you by my need of hoodie.

And we are back!  Looking over the tablet at the garden lights fading between colors.  A few of their changing bulbs drape over the top of a honeysuckle I pruned hard today.  Not to the ground, but hard still.  For years it flowered profusely and well into autumn.  This year it’s been struggling.  Change.

The aphids that decimated my hellebores in spring (jackasses!) found a new target.  And now the hummingbirds that have loved that plant for years will suffer.  Sad.  Hopefully it rebounds and provides plenty of bounty for my little winged friends.  At least I have flourishing fuchsias to tide them over.  Change.

I cut down my foxglove; they were infested with aphids and well into seed.  I cut my spent and now skeleton-like alliums; they were not infested with aphids.  Plucked unwanted grass and weeds from beds; vigorously pulled the volunteer (makes the Catholic cross motion across chest) morning glory and blackberry sprouts.  Browning peony crown?  Beheaded.   

Asiatic Lillies?  Peeking open.  Clematis?  Climbing skyward and smiling (I like to think).  Star jasmine?  Scenting the air.  Lavender?  Sweet promises.  Rose Campion? Hosting a rock festival. Hydrangeas?  Hinting big color.  Daisies?  Doing their cheerful thing. Catmint?  Will survive us all save for the neighborhood cat gang. 

Change is in the air tonight.  Change is in my yard waste bin.  Change is the dirt under my nails and (hopefully not) the spiders in my hair from pruning and pulling.  Change is in new beginnings.

My Word doc screen is dark; the words are white.  Change.  It’s everywhere.  It’s sad and scary and interesting and full of wonder and hope.  It’s life and death and heartache and love.  It’s always the seasons.

So leave the last light behind tonight with the music of The Byrds, “Turn! Turn! Turn!” my friends.  If you don’t like the current season, there will always be another.  And if this one is your favorite, may it last forever in your heart.