When late summer rolls around the garden is equally beautiful to me, as spring.
There is a light in the sunflowers, beautiful faded yellow petals, seeds bared, like skin peeking out from a tear in a stocking.
The tattiness of the dahlia petals, echoing faded chintzy dresses too long at the dance. Leaves wrinkled and old, faded green, showing their age, reflections of a portrait of a older person, wise beyond our comprehension.
Seed pods ready to burst, spiky, brown, prickly, and plump.
The bones of the garden start to show, no longer distracted by green leaves, reality shines from the bushes. Drapes it’s self over branches, and shouts from the bare spots when late summer rolls around.
There are no pretences, it’s all laid out to see, mistakes, plundered plants, roots, stems… nothing is hidden.
Winter covers the skeletons with a soft white cloak, but fall lays out your plans for next spring.
Dance late summer garden, waltz me into Autumn, as I dream, and make plans of seasons to come. There still seems to be a few glitches with the feed. You should be able to find me under My Way of Living.
Hopefully it will all work it’s self out soon.