An abundance of monarchs in the front yard today…their flare and dip, a flash of planetary hue, as the moon hung off kilter and wide in the ever expanse…

The thistles that line the walkway were angry, their thorns capturing and snagging, a mood settled by my gentle hand, and my appreciative words, “Your evils are lovely”…

Moonflowers that seeded themselves, sought darkness inward, centripetal curling, their illumination soft with pleasure in reminiscing the night’s lore…

A singular, fuchsia-maned zinnia, bold in height, trained her keen eye on the orbweaver…a textile of petal and silk and candy-striped spindles…

…the end is in sight, I see the telltale signs, so I take it all in, at the pace it sets…the garden…each year I watch, as it slows, as it fades, and gradually withers away…as light casts new angles, and shadows unearth new portals…I’ll winter and I’ll await…the reincarnation of transcendent design…

E.A. O'Connell. November 2018