1. As they’ve done for the past few years, the tiger lilies bloomed, piercing the green torpor of the autumn garden with miniature spotted fireworks.
2. We also bought mums, which were cheap, garish, disposable, environmentally destructive, and — somehow — perfect.
3. I kept thinking about the tapestries of mums I saw covering the medians on Park Avenue. I was happy to have seen them, but I was also happy not to have seen them more than once.
4. I felt less conflicted about the October light, which every afternoon for about forty minutes slanted through the gap in the adjacent apartment buildings.
5. If I can, I always try to make it outside for part of this small performance.
6. To watch the leaves glow for a few minutes is comforting; it’s like when you wake up in the middle of the night and, after looking at the clock, realize that you still have five or six hours to go, at which point, filled with relief, you roll over and go back to sleep. Except here it’s the garden that’s waking up and rolling over.
7. There was a mystery this week: someone was digging holes, exposing the bulbs. I replaced the dirt and covered the area with bricks to deter future excavations.
8. We speculated that it was probably a squirrel, since cats don’t typically dig so deep.
9. Defying expectations, our orchid also continued to bloom. I wondered if it was happier outside than inside, or if it was just trying to make the best of what time remained, knowing that winter isn’t that far away.
10. In a way, life seemed easier — less complicated — for the mums, which weren’t fighting anything. After a few days of showing off, they were already beginning to fade.
