Lammas has passed, and it really feels like late summer now. Even though this is the hottest time of the year in my corner of the world, the signs of summer’s end are everywhere. The sweet blue hydrangea blossoms are taking on tinges of pink at their edges, preparing to fade after blooming brilliantly for weeks.
Though there are still tiny purple flowers on the bittersweet nightshade vines, some of the berries are ripening to poisonous red.
The mugwort blossoms have opened, little frizzly tufts of brown against the green sepals.
Summer is far from over; we’ve still got two months of wilting heat ahead of us. I have to admit my outdoor time is limited to early mornings in the garden before the sun hits the yard, and occasional visits to Forest Park where the air is almost cool. I struggle to feel a connection to Lammas/Lughnasadh. Though I find it beautiful, I don’t interact with that beauty the way I do the rest of the year. I’d like for it to be different; maybe some day I’ll figure out how.
For now I’ll do my best, admiring the brown seeds of yellow dock in the weedy corner of the garden, and thanking the gods for sweet tea and ice cubes.