It is that glorious time of year when my garden is ablaze with golds, bright yellows, rich rusts and the amazing red of my Cork bush. In the wind birch leaves drift down, dogwoods drop lazily beneath the branches and my hostas flame.
The sycamore is a more humble fellow, his leaves merely curling up and turning brown, to drop and spread as mulch amid the blazing leaves of more flamboyant types. My elderberry is a feathery lemon yellow fuzz ball, showing off against the deep purple of the oak-leaf hydrangea. Only the ivy and the everygreens - my Leyland cyprus - are still the robust green, recalling warmer, summer days when the wealth of green overflowed the yard.
There is the last splash of color. An errant butterfly bush bloom - dark knight - hangs aver the clematis vine that is yellowing. One last bright red Blaze rose lingers on the arching canes. The montauk daisies still thrive, though the purple loostrife and touch-me-nots are now but distant memories.
As my garden prepares to sleep, seek rest for its Season Opener come spring, I watch and say farewell to the beauty that nestled around me all season. From the brilliant chartreuse shoots that beckoned like a symphony in spring, to the riotous, overgrown secret garden of summer, it is now making a final grandstand before the Earth goes dormant.
Farewell to the beauty of nature. I will wait for you next year.
Sleep well, my friends
Sunday, November 2, 2008
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