Thanks to our recent bout with sickness and grief, I’ve been largely avoiding outside walks and outside activity, but yesterday I went out for the first time in a while and found many things still in bloom. It was a reminder that summer is not quite over, even if I’m ready for fall, even if I feel it in the air at night. Andy has noticed the shift in the slant of the sun too, signifying the month or so left to summer – the final third of what has become a rather dour and dim season.
Starting on the patio, I inspect the hyacinth beans and nasturtiums that have grown up the poles of the canopy to create a stunning natural curtain of leaves and blooms and, now, poisonous bean pods. The cheery yellow and gold flowers of the nasturtium have been this season’s happy surprise performers. Meanwhile, a scarlet mandevilla winds its way around its support pole – the striking shade of red a vivid contrast to the pool behind it. I haven’t been swimming since July, and I’m not quite ready to resume. There’s a joy in the pool that I don’t want to taint just yet.
Walking around the corner of the house, I pass the crinkled petals of our Rose of Sharon, and inspect the two fountain bamboo plants I’ve gotten going after their hundred-year-flowering cycle finally ended. The new crop of stalks has pushed through the ground and have reached the height they stopped at last year. Usually they would have bounded past that mark, but this has been a stalled and stunted summer. Every time it seemed we would sail into a heatwave, a deluge of rain and wind set us back a bit. After a while, I didn’t even bother to fight it.
There were rudbeckia and Montauk daisies still in bloom, glowing splendidly in the afternoon sunlight. The cup plants, marred and scarred from the worst aphid infestation I’ve ever seen, still manage to hold their blooms in the air, offering joy to bees and butterflies and goldfinches. Soon, the seed-heads will develop, and the finches will pluck them all away.
I’m ready for the fall.
