Margaret Jarek


mjarek Thursday August 11, 2016

Autumn 512
I love the good fellow democracy of autumns wild flowers. Among the goldenrod and black eyed susans and the various members of the aster clan there isn't a spec of fussy, overly selective aristocracy to be found. They offer no complaint about the soil or the location. They jostle one another in field and on the sun baked hillsides and out along the verge of dusty roads like a band of children on a day trip to the country.

All summer they have captured the golden sunlight and held it close and now in the nadir of summer they release it back to the world.

There is an echo of laughter in their bright display of color, a hint of a country dance as they move to the lilting music of the summer wind. They have not a bashful trait among them, these gypsy children of autumn they are brash and brave and uninhibited as they go trooping over the autumn landscape.

Long after the early frost has come and ended the season in the sun of less hardy flowers, it is not uncommon to see a spray of goldenrod or a new England Aster still blooming its heart out in some protected corner of a garden.

These are not prima donnas that need to be coddled and coaxed to offer up their beauty. They are far to independent for such nonsense. They bloom for the sheer pleasure of doing so and happily share their nectar with every passing bee and butterfly.

They parlay their commonality into an abundant harvest of autumn beauty for the general welfare of their admiring public.

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