Like the menopause of the year, this makes me all emotional and moody. Beautiful as they are, it is not an accident that the An-Enemy are also blooming.
Furthermore, (allthewhile sipping vermouth with bitters listening to Verdi working myself into a real compost) it does also occur to me while celebrating his passage from pre-teen to manhood that insipid Bobby Brady “Time to Change” song really is an affront to all I am going through. This seasonal Fall is besieged by the beautiful An-Enemy like so many little pawns marching to the dirge for the demise of my verdant Spring fecundity; like the July Dahlia I once was a great Beauty! (This evening I will be switching my drink to a pitcher of extra dry Rob Roy’s while I share in the heartaches of Hank Williams Sr.) I am so very thankful for my cats.
And yet, with the company of Mrs. Wren, the Society of Chickadees, the red flash of Mr. Cardinal and the occasional course Jay along with all the variety of bees and squirrels ever so busy in the near silence hope does return in the morning. The bronzing Dogwoods on the fair breeze in the slanting sparkle of this menopausal sunlight do seem to wave good morning to me like the first cup of tea. I should think gimlets and Edith Piaf will be superior company this afternoon whilst I sight and order dozens of multi-colored alliums to serve as the ballon bearers for the parade of my return in April.
In speaking of planning for next year, whilst they are now fading, if one insists upon keeping proper borders, the most sophisticated of the garden forms, one must be fastidious amoungst other things.