Fall here means a winding down for many plants. As you can see, the zinnias on the right have become quite rusty and many of their seeds have been eaten by birds. Scattered on the ground to the left and sprinkled among the asters are the first leaves fallen from the cherry tree. The lush purple asters themselves have seemingly waited for just this moment to begin to open. All arrive on their own timetable in the garden.
I was reminiscing with my grandchildren the other night over my grandson’s outdoor birthday dinner. They wanted to know when I stopped growing, an issue much on the mind of the 11 year old. A more apt question might have been when did I start growing. I was a very very late bloomer, much like the aster plant. I entered high school at 4’10”, a good half foot shorter than most of my peers. I didn’t hit my adult height of 5’4″ until I was 17. Another case of last but not least.
The original aster plant was a free offer from a televangelist. I didn’t follow the man, but I did accept the plant. It has thrived as his empire has collapsed. I imagine there is a metaphor there. I hope so.