After a certain point, when the danger of frost is in the air, I give up on the blooms of the season. There’s too much trouble and heartache that comes from investing in a fresh head of hydrangeas that stubbornly refuses to hurry things up before they’re wilted by a ruthless night of freezing temperatures. That said, I also appreciate when a fine bloom has not yet gone to brown shriveled mush, as was the case with these examples in Boston. I am especially enamored of the lime green zinnia below. Zinnias hold a childhood place in my heart, but for some reason I rarely grow them. Next year I may try my hand at them once again. Next year may be an old-fashioned return to the riotous annuals of the past. Next year… is a long way away. We better just enjoy the show now at hand. When it comes to annuals, nothing is promised.
The same holds true for the fading moonflower seen below – at least I think it’s a moonflower. I passed it at the height of the day and couldn’t be sure. I like how it’s just slightly past its prime, curling in on itself and leaving the world with the barely-glimpsed artfully-recoiled curvature of petals in decline.
