The flowering of the anemone is always a harbinger of fall. These beauties were blooming along the Southwest Corridor Park near our place in Boston while Noah and I were visiting a couple of weeks ago. I have a single pink variety in our garden, which is more pale and less striking than this one – both carry their charms differently, neither unpleasantly or disappointingly.
To my shame and slight regret, I don’t grow many late-blooming plants because I’ve mostly moved on from the garden by this point – not wanting to indulge in the slow decline and browning until the inevitable killing-frosts that will fell all in a single night or two. It’s always been too painful to get attached or enamored of something that we know won’t last. Maybe I’ve been wrong in that mode of living – this plant is a reminder that there is still beauty and glory to be found until that first hard frost arrives. Living in fear and giving up on something just because it won’t last is… well, it hurts the soul a little, doesn’t it?
