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Surely the pendulum of autumn is swinging toward winter, as I woke this morning to find my back garden frosty — the first time this fall.

The patio appears bare without orange and lemon trees.  Favored, for sure, since they spent the night indoors with their lime tree cousins.   But those other tropicals of mine?   Well, I left the Tacoma to fend life for itself — unprotected.  While without my husband’s presence, the best I could do for  two hulking Hibiscus was to huddle them together with a few other tender perennials —  invited only because they parked their pots in the right  spot — under layers of great-grandma’s quilts and a paint tarp.

I hope they made it.  Well, most of me hopes they made it.   The pendulum swings back and forth on whether their summer beauty is worth the price of five months in the house looking — well, to be kind —  less than their dress-for-success best.

Meanwhile, on the warm side of the window, I’m waiting inside.   It’s a luxury to do so, to not have to venture out on a cold morning like today  — to  warm-up my car, to dress myself in warm clothes, to wait for the car heater to work its toasty magic — as I did  in my twenties and thirties and more than half my forties.  How many times did I tell myself on those drives into school or work that someday — that someday, I would choose when to go out and stay in — that someday, I wouldn’t  live life to suit other people’s needs and wishes and clocks —  that someday I could keep time and spend it as I chose.

Well, so far, with only two out of three, someday hadn’t arrived in full.   But the rest of my someday will surely follow.

Not today, of course.  Because today I’ve got to move an orange and lemon tree outdoors and I’ve got to lift off the quilts and tarp to see how yesterday’s choices fared.  And I’ve got to spread mulch.  And time permitting, amend soil in the east garden that’s close to being done.

Yep — even though it’s still cold, I need to venture outside and work the garden.

And yep — I sure like  the sounds of hearing ‘someday.’  Why talking about ‘someday’ makes me think I have all the time in the world.  And then some.  In spite of that pendulum swinging toward winter.