Some blogs I follow have excellent photos of bees and butterflies visiting zinnias and other flowers. The pollinators where I live usually move too fast for me. (They seem to start each foraging trip with triple espressos.) I just admire the local zinnias and their visitors as I walk slowly past them, without taking photos. One day late in the 2026 zinnia season, my muse interrupted my walk when she whispered, “Pull your phone out.” I complied while replying, “No post without a poem.” She smirked and winked.
So far as I know, there is no species in the oak genus named after Henley’s famous poem. Maybe there should be one.
The color called “lilac” in CSS is a light purple, with equal amounts of red and blue. (The buds on this bush were a magenta, with a good deal more red than blue.) Eleven days later, this bush was almost done for the year. It looked like the flowers had indeed been lilac when fully open and were fading to lavender and then white.
Snow-laden branches,
sagging under cold wet weight.
But they will rebound.
Thriving on cold air,
icicles defy hot sun
(from a safe distance).
falling when not held.
Leaves still bright grace roads and lawns;
they danced to distant wind chimes.
Leaves still green.
Intrepid seed wings
lead the way.
Leaves drop one by one,
each with a story to tell.
But can we listen?
With more shades of green
than I can easily count,
trees hail Labor Day.
