The cup plants and hibiscus continue to put on their summer show, and with the healthy rain we’ve had this year, they are going stronger than they typically would at such a late date. Joining their performance is the butterfly bush, which I’d cut back hard earlier in the spring. This is a little late for its blooming period, but very much welcome as the rest of the garden is on its second wind, meaning smaller and fewer flowers, if there are flowers at all. Here is a song that was posted by my friend Missy, to welcome her and Ann for a reunion weekend with two of my longest and dearest friends.
Richie and Austen are often along for the ride
They don’t say a lot, but they know every inch of this drive
If these trees started talking, I bet you they’d only talk shit
‘Cause we never do anything real, we just talk about it
Endin’ of August, the bugs are just starting to die
All the neighbors are voting for someone who wins every time
And I thought getting older meant knowing it’s too late to try
And I tried getting sober, I swear I did better this time
Whoa, everything you see out here will die
Ooh, it’s a matter of time ‘til it’s
Fields of ice and reflector lights
‘Til it’s our town
And anything you need I will provide
A ride home or an alibi
I know the traffic light
You can speed right by
‘Cause the camera’s down
And I follow New York plates to the county line
I ignore ‘em when they wave on 89
The minute that September hits
I’m going off my medicine, oh
Late August angst, and a pointless night
Ooh, and the feeling of being alive
For the first time, in a long time
On the eve of their arrival, I step onto the back patio. It’s raining, and I don’t mind it. The tomatoes have started to split, and I hurriedly harvest a few, popping them into my mouth and savoring the summer moment. Pausing to take it all in, I listen to the rain, remembering a similar rainy day in which I sat beside a patch of trilliums earlier in the spring. That feels far away now – so much can happen in a single summer, even when nothing seems to have happened.
Oh we’re a drawing of a place
We’re a photo on the fridge
They mined copper for years
Oh, there was nothing left to dig
It’s a place where most kids
Just grow up and have kids, who grow up and have kids
Who build homes for the rich, oh
A pesky mosquito threatens the peaceful moment, and even that doesn’t annoy me the way it usually would. I wonder why I care so much less. I wonder why I don’t care much at all. End of summer blues, probably. They’ll be chased away once Ann and Missy arrive – friends always to the rescue.
Whoa, everything you see out here will die
Ooh, it’s a matter of time til it’s
Fields of ice and reflector lights
‘Til it’s our town
‘Til it’s our town
‘Til it’s our town
And it’s ours now
It’s ours now
