When summer gathers up her robes of glory, and, like a dream, glides away. — Sarah Helen Whitman, American poet, essayist, transcendentalist, spiritualist
We’re coming to the end of August and also the end of the summer bouquets. It’s been a strange season in a year we can all say we wish would end. One pleasant discovery is that with the demise of the dahlia garden, I’ve had to rely on other flowers and I’ve had to be more creative in building out my bouquets. David always told me I needed more greenery for balance. As you know, I’m all about stuffing the vase with flowers and more flowers. This time around, I have been using branches from the camellia tree — setting them up in the vase and building the bouquets around the branches. And here are the results.
I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year. – from Sonnet XXVII, Edna St. Vincent Millay, American lyrical poet and playwright
Now it is August. Midsummer. I came across this Edna St. Vincent Millay poem, and I thought this first line and title of her sonnet is what the flowers are saying to me. Enjoy.
And that concludes our July, our midsummer, bouquets. Stay tuned for the late summer (August) bouquet and the fall bouquet blogs.
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