I looked up this morning, and this summer's gone
(Aaand TIL upon verifying the lyrics that that's a mondegreen that's happily resided in my brain all these years, in the stead of "I looked out this morning / and the sun was gone.") But yes, today is the autumnal equinox. Hello fall, goodbye summer.
There's still some juice, and color, left in the growing season. My garden's Rose of Sharon (Hibiscus syriacus 'Blue Bird'), insulted but not felled by the last harsh winter, and finally unmolested by Japanese beetles, unfurls perfect blooms in a perfect hue every day these days. Also happily beetle-free, at last, is the self-sown Kiss-Me-Over-The-Garden-Gate (Polygonum orientale), casually elegant in cerise. Enabling the illusion that all won't be quiet, and brown, and then white, by the next quarter-turn of the calendar, are a half-dozen stolid and florid late-blooming daylilies, and the wildflower mix bounty of white, pink, and magenta cosmos and orange marigolds, still chugging along.
But I can only avert my eyes from the (so many) weeds making their late-season resurgence. And cry "uncle," and wave the white flag of surrender, with my non-dominant hand, since my dominant hand, and arm, and elbow are on the injured list, after overenthusiastic weed pulling sessions in early summer. The technical term for it is "tennis elbow," they say. Yanking hurts, pulling hurts, gripping hurts, lifting my coffee cup hurts. I fought the weeds, and the weeds won.
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