Flowers on Sunday in August

The shapes of trees are so distinct in glaring summer sun – even at 7:30 am – I imagine I can see every leaf, no matter how far away, as I drive out to the farmer’s market.

This Saturday morning, though, the trees’ silhouettes melted in the moist August haze, shadowless layers of blackened green, linking the earth and the milky grey sky. Farther down the road, the soft bumps of brighter hills and groves rose like far away mountain ranges. The ditches are white with tangles of Queen Ann’s Lace, and bright purple asters are starting to shine. Summer in its flurry – but getting ready to hand off soon.

There’s corn this week, and the tomatoes are run amok. The dark red wash on the viburnum leaves and berries hints at autumn. Lisianthus keeps coming, in all her ruffles and gingerly folds. Why ever would you say “no?” to such a fun party girl? It rained too hard this morning for me to get into my community plot – but I know the cosmos are there, taking over everything.

On Friday the Thrift Gods, in their wisdom, ordained I should acquire exactly the right table cloth to make my dining room happy – along with sundry other requirements that have been eluding me, such as the Right Drinking Glasses and another tarnished silver Thing For Flowers.

But even more, They bestowed on me a cabinet of incomparable kitsch, decorated with plastic mother of pearl ladies and servants mingling in golden green hills painted on a perfectly black background. I have waited out lesser temptations for almost a year, too broke and disheartened to risk buying the wrong thing for my new home. I was hoping for The One – and my faith was rewarded with a Treasure. Oh, it is every bit as wonderful as you are imagining.

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