August 5, 2006
The marigolds were wilting, so I gave them a drink. Your roses have flourished this summer. I was surprised tonight by two perfect fuchsia blooms. The moths are beginning to flicker as the moon rises. The nachtsmetterling are beginning the nightshift, drinking in the cool evening nectar. As I went to the side of the house to turn off the hose I caught a whiff of the evening scented stock I planted this May. Sweet clover-scented stock, folding me back into a summer I barely remember.
The women in my family have left me with a legacy of floral memories: yellow bush roses, mauve sweet peas, and sunflowers as tall as the harvest moon. These memories pull me back through time, up past dark time into the light.