The lunar eclipse came in the night fog-banked; seemingly exhausting trees, grasses...even the birds are quiet today.  Overnight, the blood-mooned night, deep mustard yellows of goldenrod have browned to tiredness, as have the once sparkling citron ovals of birch.

Ten miles away it is raining heavily, and has been throughout the day, while here in Bethel all is merely damp.  Not exactly saturated but pervasive.  Perfect for the late blooming shaggy garden, spilling zinnia and cosmos across the sweet rot of fallen apples.  To resist such disarray, to attempt an ordering by the rake could only be madness on this day.