Dog Days

The mercury has climbed close to 100 degrees, just as it did yesterday. Tomorrow will be the same. Cracks have appeared in the garden soil. Leaves are drooping and so are people. Annie has been allowed into the house.

Only the butterflies don't seem to care. I'm a lucky woman to sit by a window in a cool room, watching tiger swallowtails and fritillaries feeding on the fast-fading phlox.



Out by the old cold frame I can see the peach tree, bending its branches under the weight of ripening fruit. I planted this tree from a pit many years ago. Too close to the windbreak, it has struggled for space, and has surprised me this year by bearing. Oh, the peaches have blotches and blemishes and wasp stings, and they're small, but they are ours and I love them just for their existence.



Sitting on the back patio table is a flat of savoy cabbage and escarole seedlings. Caring for them, I picture myself putting on a sweater and going to the garden in October to cut a head of escarole for white bean and escarole stew.


What a nice dog day it has been, having time to read a good book, observe, and reflect.