Nature Does Not Procrastinate
But I do, and should be writing a piece about desert tortoise genetics in the Mojave. Instead I'm thinking of Suburban Agriculture and watching autumn clambering over the horizon, one sturdy trousered knee already up. The Fish Peppers, which are rare and heirloom and thready-pulsed refused to sprout from their overpriced coddle pots of peat in May, have fruited with lime green gusto striped white - Dior would call them "cunning" like a cloche and a wink.
We're sluicing into one denoument: the Perseids have come and gone, so have the fireflies. We're eating yellow grape tomatoes by the fistful, basil by the hank, the Romas are pouring in over the gunnels. People are bringing cucumbers to work. A denoument, maybe, but a juicy, sticky denoument dazzle.
Nature, she does not procrastinate. We're teetering on the Zone 7 transition zone, and late summer in Northern Virginia drops with a tarp-like whump. Disturbingly punctual, the oaks and tulip trees and maples that line the Beltway like spectators at the races, now all adopt a dusty, hollow-under-the-arms kind of "Oy am I bushed" puggle. Even the gorgeous sycamores with skin elegant as stone garnishing the American Legion Bridge over the Potomac seem weary. The air and light - soupy with pollen and possibility in June, is thin. But the dogwoods berries are red and the squirrels are ambushing each other in the Elberta.
Here is something you might like from Scienceblog's The Thoughtful Animal: Time lapse of Thursday's Perseid meteor shower wheeling over a Joshua Tree National Park sky http://vimeo.com/14173983... Set to music: noodly plinky blue notey, but calming in a "vacant with a hint of sadness, like a drunk who's lost a bet" sort of way...How can something be so gorgeous.
Next time, I'll tell you about Southern Exposure.
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