Fading flowers, trailing vines, fluffy seed heads,
mystery weeds, new grass seed . . . . . . all part of
the late Summer garden preparing for Autumn.
Working outside is still hard and tiring. Humidity and
biting mosquitoes make gardening miserable. After an
hour or so one feels like an old worn shoe, a rusted trowel,
a broken hoe, a pile of clippings, and a trash barrel,
all jumbled together by the compost heap.
The old quote comes to mind.
A garden is thing of beauty . . . and a job forever.
Now the beauty is fading, but it's still a small joy to
behold in an early misty dawn, or the coolness of dusk.
I have to laugh to myself when people stop in the street,
say how lovely the garden looks. I thank them profusely,
but deep down feel somewhat guilty. I want to tell
them not to look closely . . . I almost want to be like
them, observing beauty from afar.
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