They rise and arch like a summer fountain, scaled with green until the very end of the season, when they turn salmon and rust like amber waves of grain. The seeds of the Northern sea oat have become a bit pesky in the garden, spreading their beauty a bit further than I’d like, but it’s still a handsome plant.
Emblematic of the harvest, they wave and flutter in the slightest breeze – all elegance and simplicity and a lesson of life in one glorious visage. There comes a time when we must reap what we have sown, when our preparation and actions come to fruition and judgement. Who among us can stand up and own the fruits of our labor? In the garden it’s the goal – whether fruit or flower or simple miraculous survival. In the rest of our lives, it gets a little trickier.
I think I prefer the straightforward, no-nonsense game of the garden.
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