marigolds & moss

the marigolds were an after-thought, a filler,

an "if nothing else blooms, at least we'll have marigolds"

when i tossed seeds in the garden plot this past summer.

~

&, yet, they linger on.

unbowed by frost.  overlooked by rabbits.

orange-y sunshine in this autumnal grayness.

i am surprised by their fortitude.  their ability to deter me from turning the soil so as to plant winter vegetables.  i can't bear to be the force that ends their stubborn survival.


& i've discovered i like the smell of marigolds.  it is not a sweetly scented flower - but is, instead, a bitter green when you snap the stem, with a noseful of spice buried in the velvet petals.

most of the garden is in decline.

stunted by the cold weather.

leaves & berries shriveling on the vine.

the seed pods are now more beautiful than the fruit.

maybe they always were.

& the figs will die green on the tree,

the summer rain having come too late in the season.

i like to wander in the yard, making a full circle of our house.

i especially like the narrow, mossy path along the west side

(although it is much too close to our neighbor's house,

so never quite becomes a secret garden).

right now, it is covered in dogwood and oak leaves

that match my favorite slippers.

 

i have let the clematis remain at the light post & have not, yet, decided if i will cut it back.  i've left it so late this year that some of the larger leaves are turning into plum red hearts.

this clematis vine is, i think, an offspring of our neighbor's ~ which must have sent a handful of tufted seedpods, drifting across the street, to take root in our yard.  i dug up two seedlings, which i found growing randomly in our lawn several years ago, and planted them at the light post.  it is a demure white clematis, with rather plain and small blossoms.  but, like the marigolds, it is sturdy, reliable, and appears to withstand the frost.

most of my gardening efforts recently have been directed at acorn collection.  i wouldn't have bothered, typically, but this year's acorn harvest is stunning.  so far, i have filled thirty-three yard buckets (technically, eleven buckets each for three consecutive weeks) with acorns from our oak trees.  once the acorns are not underfoot, the multitude of oak leaves that are still attached to the branches above my head will take their place.