The last blooms of the season are somehow always more resonant. They may not be as flashy (though these may give argument to that) but there is something about the impending demise of the garden that gives them more import and urgency, thereby lending an impact that might otherwise be lost. At any other point in the Summer, blooms as soft as these would pale next to the hot-hued yellows and oranges that dominate the high season. They seem to have waited along with their neighbors – the Seven Sons’ flower, the Sweet Autumn Clematis, and the Bluebeard – to make their presence felt at the most precious and opportune time. I like a plant that knows the value of good timing. I like a person that knows that even better.
