Here we are, past the middle of October, and still the garden shimmers and shines in the sunlight, packed tightly with exuberant colour in the chrysanthemums and the remnants of the summer flowers and roses.
Yesterday I planted tulips in the back bed and along the west end of the house, and today I planted narcissus in the cutting bed by the patio, - used up all the bonemeal and luckily found the bulb planter.
The last full bloom and a little bud on the Abraham Darby, - will the weather hold until the bud opens?
The pretty yellow rose by the inner path.
And the shastas tucked away at the back.
Grocery store roses, - so hardy and so beautiful.
and the older yellow rose that grows along the roadway.
The sumac that Charles peers at threateningly because of its wandering ways.
but so vibrant in the fall.
The white rose
and the Prairie Princess
Some shaggy Mums
the scarlet maples are beginning to lose their vivid leaves
and here is the last of the sunflowers
Despite all this glorious bloom I know it is time to start thinking of mulching and preparing for the first frost and the end of Indian 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.
O fraud that cannot cheat the bee
Almost thy plausibility
Incites my belief,
Till ranks of seeds their witness bear
and softly, through the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf.
O, sacrament of summer days
O, last communion through the haze
Permit a child to join,
Thy sacred emblems to partake,
Thy consecrated bread to break,
Taste thine immortal wine.
Emily Dickinson
Indian Summer
