Hello again from the garden,
This little garden. Here simply to shine.
Summer’s end. It comes all of a sudden on the wind. Crisp air and cold nights and the lake temperature drops. The day-lilies are all shriveling up.
My mother points out a fall flower. I forget its name. She may stay up here for a few more weeks.
She is feeling better than ever, she is feeling wonderful. She has more energy now than she’s had since spring.
She says, her garden, she’s always said, is just like a symphony.
I still find new things. A brand new symphony each night.
I make shadows on the house with plants. I could go with that for a long time.
I could write words in the air for a long time: mother, blue moon (for the two moons of August), cradle, heart.
I could chart the night above the garden, the movement of the moon across the sky, the stars on clear nights sparking tails.
The dew (on my camera-back during long exposures).
The toys left on the grass, the tools.
A moth in the flowers, this inky darkness. So many moths, in my face, in my hair, but all summer I don’t capture one.
I haven’t photographed the red berries. (No blueberries this year – too dry?)
I want to curl up inside this thicket of stems, take pictures up close, down low to the smoky ground.
The pinhole cap, unused, new digital timer not even out of its box.
It feels like there’s so much more to do. Stitch together panoramas.
My old close-up lenses…
A three-sixty of the garden –
The night is young, still.
Categorised as: Night Garden