My favorite season is barely half done, and already the signs are there. A few impetuous leaves turn red and yellow. Potted plants grow weary, strangled by their own root-bound legs. Sumac's velvety cobs blush, eager for their time, their
raison d'être. Summer, devoured slowly by moss and mold, nourishes a new kind of spring.
Lives end; life endures.
As if to show its still-lustrous, vibrant kin the glory of the eternal cycle, a shed rhubarb leaf uses every device of color, texture, line and form to say
There is beauty and fulfillment where I am going too.
Lives end; life endures.
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