|Do you see my sweet visitor on the flower?|
There’s a coolness in the air. I don’t like it one bit. It’s not at all the "relief from summer heat" type of coolness. It feels like (although it isn't yet) the waning of summer, and with it the slow and inevitable death of our garden. Why am I anticipating summer's end already?
I asked my husband to join me on the deck a bit after eight. I knew sunset was upon us, and the garden would descend through half-light into darkness very soon. He said he would be there in a minute. When he came outside he took over the filling of the water reservoirs on the Earthboxes, while I surveyed the melons, eggplant, incoming cucumbers, crowder peas, and stubborn heirloom tomatoes. The tomatoes simply refuse to turn from granny smith apple green to their final vibrant reds and oranges. The exceptions to the green tomatoes are the “time to harvest them again” Sungold tomatoes.
They were the last bright things as evening darkened the sky.