It is only a matter of time until the frost shatters the brilliance of my garden. Joseph and I have already had to tuck the geranium and begonia pots into the sunroom as temperatures in the low 30s threatened. Though the frost has not yet descended, those low 30s temperatures made the cypress vine shiver and the browallia is now dropping its leaves.
Had to happen. It’s all part of the cycle. I have to bow to the immensity of bloom and leaf that erupted from the seeds I tucked into dirt back in March and April. The summer has given me a kaleidoscope of color, shape and design.
I look forward to autumn, in a strange way. As the petunias rest from their lauded mission to fill the days with frills of peach and pink and purple, I will consider a more thoughtful place. The raucous party at a lull, I will contemplate growth from a different perspective — the sun lower, the sounds outside crisp and golden like fallen leaves.
For now I am enjoying the last of the blooms. I walk through the garden and thank the gaillardia, the convolvulus, the cosmos and asters for sharing their gusto this season. I will carry it with me as I put on my hand-knit socks this fall, and think of where I am headed next.