Summer Eden

I wish you could see the view from my dining room window. Stout maples and oaks fall away down the hillside with greens of every shade reflecting sunlight, or resting in the shadows. A breeze teases branches into playing peek-a-boo with those beneath them.

It is just after noon, and the sun is nearly above us, yet only about ten or fifteen percent of the lawn is sunlit. We live in a forest, and it requires effort to hold it at bay.

But where we have resisted its advance, tall fountain grass plants stand like sentinels around an inactive fire pit. A wooden bench and a couple of iron chairs wait together for cool fall days, the dancing flames, smiling faces and singing guitars. Flowers splash varying colors and shades surround tomato, zucchini and cucumber vines; each one in its own turn preparing to offer its produce. And the herb garden breathes its fragrance across our porch and spices our dishes with delight.

When first looking out this morning of my day-off, the sun was only beginning its work. Many flowers remained tucked-in from the night; while a host of beetles were threatening roses, hydrangea and a butterfly bush. The lawn was not mowed and the weeds weren't pulled. There were battles to fight and chores to do. And now the fruit of that labor is sweet.

Much is to be done before Fall. Much to be enjoyed when it arrives.