There are weeds in my backyard with purple flowers, a light shade of lavender I’ve seen made into ladies’ nightgowns and bridesmaids’ dresses. The colour is more beautiful in flowers, from where it glows in front of my dwarf sunflowers and volunteer tomato plants. I’ve got one pumpkin turning orange and the potato plants are falling over, at the same time the morning glories I planted from seed are putting forth their coy blooms. It doesn’t matter. They’re perfect.
Victoria does September perfectly, even with mixed-up species. The pressure is off for it to produce truly hot summer days, so when they come, they’re like gifts. The sky is crisp, the air is clear, and it smells like blackberries and dry grass. Yesterday we swam in Durrance Lake and called it the final swim of the season, because when we were vertical, the depths chilled our legs too completely. But floating! The last layer of summer was still in those top six inches and submerged, peering at the deep sky, I could still pretend.
I’m browner than I have been in years, and the sun is my chocolate, my red wine, things supposed to be good for you in little bits. I cannot quit. I feel best when illuminated. I may wake up one day soon and not recognize the leather on my bones, but for now, summer is my saviour. Glory be to September heat.
