I’m just not going to make a poem today. My brain feels so scattered, I think the only thing holding it together is my skull. Heat? Maybe. More likely the increasing difficulty with being older and watching the world change into something we envisioned only not like this. (non sequitur? no.) Life now resembles a city’s marathon, only you’re not in the race anymore, in fact, you’re not even on the sidewalk watching. You’re up in your apartment looking down and saying, “I wonder what they’re doing down there?”
In lieu of posting nothing, I took a walk around the yard.
Lovely, ubiquitous goldenrod. Prime suspect in my investigation into the dermatitis which has cropped up again. July 2026.
One of the few remaining non-natives. Couldn’t bring myself to rip out what amounts to a mailbox decoration. July 2026.
Our purple coneflowers typically droop starting this time of year, but pounding rain a week ago didn’t help. Good thing these guys were tied up beforehand. That’s mountain mint in the background. July 2026.
Our yard now represents a pollinator’s dream. Here an eastern bumblebee (I think) heads off for the next blooming sprig of anise hyssop. July 2026.
One of the strangest plants: rattlesnake master. Is it called that because of the thorned, sword-like leaves? Or the spiky flower-balls? It didn’t flower last year, nor did it come close to growing over six feet tall as it has this year. July 2026.
There you have it. Perhaps my melancholy intro will produce a poem later tonight. Time to get down to the pub.
all the voices in my head 