These wild asters have subsisted behind my childhood home’s backyard for over forty years. Some summers they are sparse and scant, others they are extensive and robust. This year falls under the latter, with an impressive showing of blooms and colonization, especially resplendent in the late afternoon light. Summer insists on showing off right until its very last moment.
Their smaller blooms, almost insignificant when compared to bigger and brighter glories of early summer, make an almost echo of those earlier days. Our second bloom is always smaller and more delicate, and, because of that, often more beloved.
These are hardy little plants, managing their survival beneath some rather deep shade and the selfish roots and barren soil of several ancient pine trees. A portrait of hardiness and beauty, even as the world is unforgiving and unaccommodating.
