Dahlias in October

A red dahlia glowing brightly, a couple of blocks beyond my balcony:

Poppies in October
by Sylvia Plath

Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts.
Nor the woman in the ambulance
Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly——

A gift, a love gift
Utterly unasked for
By a sky

Palely and flamily
Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes
Dulled to a halt under bowlers.

O my God, what am I
That these late mouths should cry open
In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers.

Source: Poetry Foundation

The last rose of summer

Blame it on the sudden change from warm sunshine and blue, cloudless skies to gray, chilly, dreary West Coast Wet. Oh, and being in time-muddled vacation mode. I thought today, September 20th, was the first day of Fall so I was set to publish a post wishing everyone a Happy Autumnal Equinox. I caught myself just in time when I read this about an hour ago. So today, I'll squeeze in one more "summer of 2008" post and save the autumn leaves for Monday.

Last evening I was looking through the camera lens at flowers in my favourite curbside garden near Granville Street and West Broadway.  Because I was concentrating on the showier orange, pink and purple blossoms, I almost missed a delicate, white rosebud unfurling. 

I will remember this flowers as "my" (it can be yours, too) last rose of summer 2008. Beauty and resilience in the midst of urban traffic, cared for by the kind and gentle gardener who lives in the brick building on the corner.

’Tis the last rose of summer

Left blooming alone;

All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone;

No flower of her kindred,

No rosebud is nigh,

To reflect back her blushes,

To give sigh for sigh.

The Last Rose of Summer (excerpt)
Thomas Moore, 1779-1852