The sun is on the move, its slant shifting slightly and reminding that fall is around next month’s corner. Goldenrod has begun its blooming season, a sure signal that we’ve crossed the Rubicon of summer. I let out a silent sigh of resignation and relief. The gardens can begin their wind-down now, the ferns can let go of their bright green, and the petals of the cup plant can fall freely from their lofty perches. What has already been a very relaxed year in the garden can mature and ripen into the architectural form that will see us into fall and winter. I look past the leafy walls and imagine the bare bones of the place, then stop myself from getting too far ahead when there is still so much beauty to be embraced.
A few daisies give good face in the mottled and moody afternoon lighting. Shadows creep into August in beautiful and insidious ways. The garden is still very much alive, but I sense its fatigue, even as the butterfly bush and hibiscus are just beginning their respective shows. And so I step back, admiring them from a distance, taking in the beauty of the summer’s day, with one eye warily on the ending, and the beginning again.
