The Sunflowers in my garden are on the wane; their leaves are fading and browning, but the flower heads are enormous and full of seeds, and the goldfinches are hanging on them.
More August thoughts:
Ah, Sun-flower, weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the Sun,
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traveller’s journey is done:
Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow
Arise from their graves, and aspire
Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.
– William Blake
“In August, the large masses of berries, which, when in flower, had attracted many wild bees, gradually assumed their bright velvety crimson hue, and by their weight again bent down and broke their tender limbs.”
– Henry David Thoreau