Would there be a more coquettish way to perish than being strangled or hung by a rope of pearls?

Death by divine decadence.

Choked out by the seeds of the sea.

Strangulation by beautification.

The darker heart of the coquette world beats more prominently as we near the end of the summer, perhaps sensing its own demise. Too many people flirt with giving up, then when they get right up to the end, the panic of their ultimate weakness sets in and pulls them away from any final act of annihilation. Pish-posh to the boys who cried wolf; we have no time for them here. Wolves, witches, and the wretchedly-bitter who hang on to the very end without whining or complaint – those are the stalwart souls who will see us through the fall. 

I’m aware there is a paradox there. It’s an ideal illustration that the coquette life is anything but simply pretty. 

Take this post for instance. Crafted in the calm, bright light of the attic, and bound by beautiful strings of pearls, it belies a heart in grotesque riot, and a countenance at grave odds with its peaceful surroundings. One slip of the proverbial tongue, and I might speak of secrets that would hurt others as much as they would unburden my own soul of some of its demons. But this is all to come, and we have a couple more weeks of coquette respite. 

Let us have this pretty pearl moment – let us have all of the pearls, in one long string, seduce and captivate us as they slyly wind around our necks, cooly coiling ever tighter in the name of all that is coquette. 

“What lingered after them was not life, which always overcomes natural death, but the most trivial list of mundane facts: a clock ticking on a wall, a room dim at noon, and the outrageousness of a human being thinking only of herself.” ~ Jeffrey Eugenides, ‘The Virgin Suicides‘

There was no morning or early afternoon blog post today, in case anyone noticed, and there is a very good reason for that: I didn’t want to write the damn thing. Just didn’t feel like it. In the same way I haven’t felt like meditating. Or cleaning the house. Or keeping up the garden. It’s an ennui that began after being sidelined with back issues earlier in the summer, and I never quite regained my footing again. Leaning into laziness and feeling entirely uninspired, the second half of summer passed in a haze, and a sense of withdrawal and lack of engagement. My heart hasn’t been in it – and I’m sure that’s been apparent in the writing here. 

That said, I enjoyed the all-too-brief break, and I may take more of them. If this blog can be viewed in the life trajectory of spring being the start and winter being the end, I’d say confidently this blog is deep into fall. There may even have been some flurries already. And life will take its twists and turns no matter how much my Virgo tendencies want things to fall into order and precise place. This summer, similar to last summer, has been about learning acceptance – and perhaps refusing acceptance in instances that are simply unacceptable. This fall will be about going one step further – and dealing with that is going to be what I need to do to right this ship. Collateral damage, like the storm that clears out the dead branches of the forest, is inevitable. That may prove disastrous for some, but only if you deserve disaster. 

Until then, here are a few peppy purple petunia blooms. Check out the veining on these guys…

This is a bit of a mystery test post.

And as all should well know by now, life is a mystery.

To that end, I have little to offer in the way of hints, other than to reveal the color for this fall’s blog theme. 

A bit dark, but even in the midst of summer, darkness is present. 

As for the coming fall, I’m a little afraid.

But that’s when the best shit happens.

Right about the time when you’re ready to give in to The Sleep.

I have no choice, I hear your voice…

Get on your knees for something decidedly unholy. 

We haven’t had many Monarch butterflies in the garden this year – or maybe we have and I just haven’t been outside as much to notice. Both may be true. This week there were a couple of them flitting about the aptly-named butterfly bush as Andy and I enjoyed a couple of last swims before the pool season comes to a close. They danced in what remained of the summer sun and the suddenly-cooler breeze. Perhaps they were just waiting for the perfect weather. Beauty and warnings abound.

The last week of August has come and gone. It was an emotional doozy, one that required a lunch-time treat of the pistachio ricotta cake as seen below, but this blog runs on autopilot so that’s what it did. As summer winds down outside, this website continues on its journey. To that end, here is the weekly recap.

Trouble in the trees.

Pharmacists are the happiest people.

Birds and bees and hummers.

The office life.

It really is a confusing time.

Keep on treading.

The barely-pink candle.

Gratuitous clickbait in the form of shirtless male celebrities.

Boston birthday balm.

Glory of a coquette morning.

September swimming.

Dazzlers of the Day include Kaelan Strouse and Naomi Osaka.

Greeting September with a swim is the best way to remind the month that it is still summer, and it will be even after Labor Day is over tomorrow. School may begin (sorry kids!) but summer continues, and the pool remains open and heated. Donning trunks of coquette cherries (and leaving the Speedo to the Olympians) I step into the warm water, remembering… or trying to remember. 

Swimming is different in September, in the same way the light is different. It comes with the constant threat of cold – something that doesn’t happen in July or August. No matter how warm the water is, or even the air on a sunny day like today was, you get the feeling that you are right on the verge of being cold, like it might suddenly turn chilly and you’ll have to rush inside.

On this day, a pleasantly sunny throwback to the sunny days that this summer was kind enough to grant us, I swim in relative silence. The insects are buzzing and humming, and the air conditioner mumbles in the distance, but mostly it is quiet. There is no coquette music playing, no kids screaming and laughing. It is the end of summer and it happens in silence. 

The water is still too, matching the quiet. Even as I paddle into the deep end, the waves seem less rowdy, less active than they did a few weeks ago. Summer’s wind-down can’t help but be a little melancholy. 

The wind dances along the treetops, while the bees flit among the blooms of the seven sons flower tree. When the pool first opened, we swam beneath the blooms of the cherry tree – this is a more fragrant, though less showy, bookend of floral splendor. The promise of September coming soon has been answered with quiet confirmation. 

While the morning glory typically signifies the end of summer, this pink variety harkens to the early days of our coquette season. For the first day of September, this pink morning glory bridges our coquette theme with the continuation of summer, marking its final weeks while gently preparing the way for fall. Apologies – I shouldn’t even use the f-word when most of September is still technically summer. To that end, let’s head outside into the sun for another summer Sunday… while it lasts.