It is not the rare Blue Mum on the final day of August two thousand and twelve. It is however more orange now than the very yellow mum I remember. There must be something in my soil.
There is a burgeoning crop of blooming weeds in my soil that is for sure.
I will continue to edit and curate them. Wild asters will mingle with the civilized mums.
So that the ends of all Augusts will be a cacophony of colors as a prelude to the fall.