Aspiring to Fall
The hummingbirds have long deserted us for kinder climes. The unmistakable sound of collected Canada geese cleaving the air in their seasonal flight to the south, brings a pensive air of something akin to sadness to us. Our summer is fast fading and already we're lamenting its passing.
The sudden realization that darkness has crept stealthily into our long daylight hours, bringing us early to dusk and instant nightfall, further reminds us of the presence of early fall. Night-time temperatures plunging us into frost conditions after the occasional day of above-average temperatures tell us unequivocally we're headed toward winter.
We've cut back no-longer-blooming perennials. Although our climbing roses, our honeysuckles, our clematis are no longer blooming, our wonderful morning glory vines are working overtime to make up for the others' absence of colour.
The morning glory gone rampant on the trellis on the red brick wall adjoining the garage - where morning and early afternoon sun shines bright - upon which we look out now each morning to enjoy the ravishing beauty of countless bright blue blooms offering us comfort in the past glories of summer.
The huge lush balls of the hydrangeas have turned to a rustling brown from moist white. The spirea has begun to flame, the potentilla still holding up random tiny white blossoms. The burning bush has begun its slow journey to fire-tones. The tiny bright red apples, of the Jade and the Sargenti crabs, inedible but for late-departing and early-arriving robins, lend their colour jolts to the overall scene.
The magnolia trees have grown spectacularly this summer, given all that life-affirming rain, and they have set their long slender buds for next spring. Exceptionally, the magnolia in the back garden bloomed again a month ago, and still holds aloft a bright magenta bud ready to reveal another magnificent, unseasonal flower. Time to dig up those dahlias, which did so poorly this summer, but for one in the front garden.
The sneezeweed has been cut back, and so has most of the fabulous phlox, along with the sensitive plants. But the turtleheads are in full bloom, and the Japanese anemones still flaunting delicate pink-white blossoms. So are the asters in the garden and the mounds of black-eyed susans and the purple coneflowers as well. Bumblebees are still flitting about, visiting the pollen-laden flower heads - and dragonflies too keep returning.
Coral bells' long delicate wands with their tiny crimson bells still wave their cheery floral displays. Some of the later-blooming hostas have hoisted aloft their long tendrils of mauve flower heads. The daisies and the astilbes have been cut back, and soon I'll have to dig up and store all those begonias to re-plant next spring. But the amaranthus, cleome, dianthus and gazania are still perking up the gardens.
The lobelias and the petunias, the portulaca and the salvia, the verbena and the vinca, along with the zinnias have had their day, and are withering where they sit, forlorn. Still, though, there's colour and substance aplenty. From that still-heartily-blooming bright yellow rose, the pale pink one, the brilliant red one. And scads of colour yet in the many garden pots and urns planted with orange, red, white, yellow begonias.
They're all wonderful to behold in their collective beauty, and we resolve to recall their architectural texture, fragrance and colour during the long white cold winter days. To remember what the garden looks like in its summer leisure, that time now fast fading with the inexorable advance of fall.
The sudden realization that darkness has crept stealthily into our long daylight hours, bringing us early to dusk and instant nightfall, further reminds us of the presence of early fall. Night-time temperatures plunging us into frost conditions after the occasional day of above-average temperatures tell us unequivocally we're headed toward winter.
We've cut back no-longer-blooming perennials. Although our climbing roses, our honeysuckles, our clematis are no longer blooming, our wonderful morning glory vines are working overtime to make up for the others' absence of colour.
The morning glory gone rampant on the trellis on the red brick wall adjoining the garage - where morning and early afternoon sun shines bright - upon which we look out now each morning to enjoy the ravishing beauty of countless bright blue blooms offering us comfort in the past glories of summer.
The huge lush balls of the hydrangeas have turned to a rustling brown from moist white. The spirea has begun to flame, the potentilla still holding up random tiny white blossoms. The burning bush has begun its slow journey to fire-tones. The tiny bright red apples, of the Jade and the Sargenti crabs, inedible but for late-departing and early-arriving robins, lend their colour jolts to the overall scene.
The magnolia trees have grown spectacularly this summer, given all that life-affirming rain, and they have set their long slender buds for next spring. Exceptionally, the magnolia in the back garden bloomed again a month ago, and still holds aloft a bright magenta bud ready to reveal another magnificent, unseasonal flower. Time to dig up those dahlias, which did so poorly this summer, but for one in the front garden.
The sneezeweed has been cut back, and so has most of the fabulous phlox, along with the sensitive plants. But the turtleheads are in full bloom, and the Japanese anemones still flaunting delicate pink-white blossoms. So are the asters in the garden and the mounds of black-eyed susans and the purple coneflowers as well. Bumblebees are still flitting about, visiting the pollen-laden flower heads - and dragonflies too keep returning.
Coral bells' long delicate wands with their tiny crimson bells still wave their cheery floral displays. Some of the later-blooming hostas have hoisted aloft their long tendrils of mauve flower heads. The daisies and the astilbes have been cut back, and soon I'll have to dig up and store all those begonias to re-plant next spring. But the amaranthus, cleome, dianthus and gazania are still perking up the gardens.
The lobelias and the petunias, the portulaca and the salvia, the verbena and the vinca, along with the zinnias have had their day, and are withering where they sit, forlorn. Still, though, there's colour and substance aplenty. From that still-heartily-blooming bright yellow rose, the pale pink one, the brilliant red one. And scads of colour yet in the many garden pots and urns planted with orange, red, white, yellow begonias.
They're all wonderful to behold in their collective beauty, and we resolve to recall their architectural texture, fragrance and colour during the long white cold winter days. To remember what the garden looks like in its summer leisure, that time now fast fading with the inexorable advance of fall.
posted by Pieface @ 1:14 PM
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