Hurry

An unrepentant wind plows through the tree tops parting the leaves like so much hair on the scalp of the earth. It rolls in steadily, constant in its forward movement. This is no summer breeze. This new wind may be part of the storm called Ike as it transforms itself into a strong front far to the west. The warmth still present can not hide the wind’s reminder of a different time.

The parade of wildflowers marches on. The white froth of Ageratina altissima is quickly joined by the deep lavender blue of the unidentified aster. A new wave of color sweeps the mountain. A golden sea of Solidago ponds in the valley. Ragweed sneezes pollen and seeds cling to all parts of me as I pass through.







These signs are new to me. I study them for the littlest details. An expiration date I never had to contend with looms on the horizon. Perennials grown from seed in the spring must be planted before to long. A sack of bulbs that jumped in my cart and followed me to the register sits in the foyer. Roots need to be placed in the ground while there is still time.



Hurry, the wheel is spinning.