It was never the actual last day of summer that had me mourning – that officially came after we were already well into the school year anyway. It was those first few days when you could feel the shift in atmosphere indicating the turn – a morning that was suddenly breezy and lacking in heat and warmth which suddenly felt like fall. These days sadly came in early August – when our last full month of summer was beginning. It was a reminder that fall would follow soon enough – and in these hasty last days of my 40’s, I feel time moving even quicker.
The gardens have just begun the shift. I’ve been watering the ostrich ferns almost daily in the hope of keeping them green for as long a possible, but this is the month when I stop trying. Nature will govern the decline and inevitable arrival of slumber for the plants; in August I put down the sword and let the battle go. The ferns have put on a lovely show, even if it feels shorter than usual, and I’m sure they are worn out from sticking it out in the glorious heat and sun we’ve had. There comes a point when you must accept the fact that nothing in the garden lasts forever, that there is a season for everything, and the season of slumber, while still a ways out, is coming eventually. It’s a tragic waste to allow that outcome to shade the summer that remains, but I’m not quite evolved enough not to be bothered by it.
