“Are you sure/That we are awake? It seems to me/That yet we sleep, we dream”
It is July and normally I should be admiring regal sun flowers and day-glo bright zinnias but instead I find myself like Demetrius, in a sleepy mid summer haze; half-awake, fixating on fire flies and driven to shady secret places where
“the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.”
And as I hide out in these secret gardens and the few and far between small flower farms tucked in between muscular urban sprawl, I am reminded how lucky we are to still have the quiet spaces for delicate flowers to unfold; that there is an alternative to the non stop air-conditioned and air-brushed perfection of imported roses. That we still have space in our hearts for the fragile and the quirky.
Here then are a few ephemeral florals that come out with the fire flies and just as quickly disappear. They don’t show up at the grocery store. They can’t be shipped in boxes and if you were so foolish as to spray with pesticides, they would probably dissolve (or so they seem). But if you know where to find them (hint – just ask me), they become the stuff of dreams and are, therefore, eternal.