the swollen buds of the poppies and campanula,
the towering larkspur and lilies…………
and the loss of what was to come: the hundreds of hydrangea blooms,
the expanses of coneflower, liatris, and rudebeckia…….
Don’t get me wrong. I know that a garden is an ephemeral thing. It is not meant to last beyond its season, and that is part of its allure, its romance. It is sweet, beautiful and fleeting, and I can accept this. It is why I labor so to maximize its beauty and sensuality in each short season. So for it to be destroyed, flattened, literally pulverized in a matter of minutes is more than a disappointment, it feels like a betrayal. I was seduced.
And then dumped hard.