Closely, Closelyby artist
As I walk through my gardens I can feel the veil of humidity and heat lifting. Nights are chilled and mornings are still, with only the flutter of wings to break the quiet. Roses and clematis, trumpet vine and fushia, petunias and impatiens, daylilies and rose of sharon -- all seem to lean forward, urging one to touch and smell.
Do they know the season is closing down? Do they sense time is running out?
Which flower would you take if you had to choose . . . impossible to say. Each speaks its own language, answers to one's needs at the moment differently.
I would take the daylily or the trumpet vine to signal ecstasy and joy . . . the fushia or the rose of sharon to mark deep passion . . . the rose for remembrance and the clematis for gentleness . . .
In the end I would take them all -- and none, as they are lovely right where they are -- in the garden . . .
Do they know the season is closing down? Do they sense time is running out?
Which flower would you take if you had to choose . . . impossible to say. Each speaks its own language, answers to one's needs at the moment differently.
I would take the daylily or the trumpet vine to signal ecstasy and joy . . . the fushia or the rose of sharon to mark deep passion . . . the rose for remembrance and the clematis for gentleness . . .
In the end I would take them all -- and none, as they are lovely right where they are -- in the garden . . .
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