As I eagerly await my Solidago 'Fireworks' to bloom, it hits me that it's one of the last perennials to bloom and a quiet break hits me. Summer is almost over. Except for the asters and mums, a sunflower, too, I've got nothing to look forward to see bloom! I love fall and what it brings (Halloween, cooler weather) but my passion for gardening stills. Yes, there are bulbs to plant, things to cut down, but nothing to look forward to in my gardens. *sigh*
Emily Dickinson must have felt the same way at the end of summer:
These are the days when birds come back,
A very few, a bird or two,
To take a backward look.
These are the days when skies put on
The old, old sophistries of June, -
A blue and gold mistake.
Oh, fraud that cannot cheat the bee,
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief,
Till ranks of seeds their witness bear,
And softly through the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf!
Oh, sacrament of summer days,
Oh, last communion in the haze,
Permit a child to join,
Thy sacred emblems to partake,
Thy consecrated bread to break,
Taste thine immortal wine!