Late bloomers struggling for a last glimpse of sun, my zinnias make do with not quite enough sunlight and not quite enough space at the edge of the garden. Our lush spring greens --mustard, lettuce, collards, chard--are long gone, and I haven't yet seeded my fall garden. This time of year leaves me looking at bare garden soil and tomato plants that have once again disappointed us. But the cucumbers are coming on strong. Pickles! Oh yes.....
Hearts a'Busting open their seedfire, their audacity giving me hope for busting out of my own late summer lethargy.
A lone butterfly clinging to ironweed makes an apt metaphor when I feel time, and summer, slipping away. Hang on, golden wings! Soon you will turn into golden leaf hanging onto the branches atop our ridge, then lingering awhile in flight before settling like golden and russet wings to the leafmeal below.
Time's arch, a swish of leaves presaging fall, makes me stop to catch one nano-second of late summer light with a shutter click.
Ironweed, I love you more than Joe Pye Weed, though both of you stand tall against the coming autumnal transformations, determined to come back again when the timing's right, late bloomers
who never give up, sturdy homesteaders staking your claim to the places you've sunk your roots into,
your stubborn roots. May my roots hold fast, as stubborn as yours.