Frost is coming (they say, tonight) and so I closed my garden, collected all the not-yet-ripened tomatoes, wrapped them in newspaper and put them to rest in the basement, where they will turn red and be ready to eat in a few weeks.
The flowers watched as I planted wheatgrass seeds for winter ground cover and collected lavender, sage, mint and tarragon for drying.
I think they were concerned that I might be plucking them next. Not to worry, I told them. I will take your photograph and write a poem for each of you, in French (to exercise my brain) and immortalize you on my blog; so that when the snows come and you've long since dried and crumbled, your beauty will still shine, for as long as these words and pictures remain.
They gave me their permission. And so here they are. May I proudly present: My plucky cappucines, my beautiful cosmos, and the ever vibrant Miss Brilliant Red Flower, whose family name I do not know. Voila, alors, mes petites fleures!
peut-être nous resterons
deux semaines de plus
end of season
perhaps we'll stay
two weeks more
même ceux avec des pétales manquants
boire du soleil
et elles fleurissent
even those with missing petals
drink of the sun
and blossom
mes petites fleurs
dansent dans le vent,
ils n'ont pas besoin de la musique
my little flowers
dancing in the wind
they have no need of music
my little flowers
dancing in the wind
they have no need of music
elle chante de Rouge;
les couleurs aussi ont une passion
pour la vie
not ashamed to show her blush,
she sings of red;
colors also have passion
for life
_______________
*photos by awyn 9/18/2010
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