I get used to losing things, to loss, in Deep Summer. Too many things come and go. Too many beautiful, ephemeral things have already come and gone. Of course I know that many of them are perennials and will come back again. So it doesn't matter so much that the spring flowers have decayed, long-ago flowers like daffodils or crocuses or snowdrops or tulips. They will be back, and now the weather is really hot and the lilies are still blooming and all the showy coneflowers and the gray-headed coneflowers and the purple coneflowers are blooming too. And the sweet corn is sweet and the tomatoes firm and warm.
I am maybe a little uneasy about the approach of autumn, and sometimes about climate change, and about how the butterflies that used to visit the garden have disappeared these past years.
But for the most part, I am still wrapped tightly in Deep Summer, blinded by sunflowers and soothed by dusky phlox. The delicate, shiny green damsel flies and the fat blue-tailed dragonflies still hunt along the water. Swallows still soar above the lakes and ponds. Shy beige moths still hide in the wood nettle, reassuring me that the world is still in balance. I will pretend that they and I will be here next year.
This is Bill Felker with Poor Will’s Almanack. I’ll be back again next week with notes for the fifth week of Deep Summer. In the meantime, give in to the the warmth and flowers. Pretend everything will be all right.
