It’s the last of the golden leaves, and I’ve been preoccupied every other sunny day. So I sent myself out and said not to come back until I had a picture. There’s something about the rise to the sky in this one that catches my eye. Kind of gets what the fields are like around here just now, too. I don’t think it’s the definitive golden leaves picture, but nice to have it anyway.
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It’s coming close to the end of summer, and I realised I hadn’t got a picture of these yet. Funny that it hadn’t occurred to me until today that these might even be versions of the same plant. Maybe not, but they are awfully similar.
I love that they are such small, delicate flowers (the bloom is not much wider than my thumb). And the plants themselves are each their own beautiful shade of green.
Which reminds me that while my father’s garden had more than its share of flowers, it was as much about the different kinds of green playing off one another. In a way it was maybe more about that.
And so I spend a few minutes sitting and taking in the beauty of small things. And things I have taken for granted.
At which point I am suddenly reminded of that story about the delivery guy who had to go to the airport and pick up an unusual load, a bunch of penguins. He was told to take them to the zoo. Simple enough. But several hours later the zoo calls the guy’s boss, frantic with worry because there’s no sign of the delivery guy or his load. The boss gets in his car to drive down to see if he can figure out what’s happened. He’s gone only a few miles before he sees his driver walking along the downtown sidewalk, followed by a waddling line of flightless birds. The boss stomps on his brakes, rolls down his window, and yells out to get the guy’s attention. “Hey! You were supposed to take those penguins to the zoo!” “I did!” the driver responds cheerily. “And now I’m taking ‘em to a movie.”
An early morning, mist on the fields lends a special magic to the day.
Arrived before anyone else, down the elevator and along the boardwalk to the very end.
Inches from the river, a feeling of power, and a sense of perspective.
Promise fulfilled, the river moves on, my father now part of the flow. The river unchanging, but we will never be the same.
So, remember I wondered whether the flowers had come and gone? Apparently not. These were taken that afternoon. Certainly not everything that’s in bloom, but you get the idea (as usual, click on the picture for a larger version).
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