Come September

And just as I changed the calendar page, I noticed that the view from the window was changing too. The leaves on the peonies by the path have become flushed with deepest red. Autumn can be a time to gather great armfuls of branches of coloured leaves and autumn fruits to display in the largest vases and jugs but it isn't time for such excesses just yet - just a hint of that, just a precursor of those times ahead.


I cut some and brought them inside then scoured the garden for flowers to go with them. There were a few marigolds but such strong burnished colours belonged as well to that time that hasn't come quite yet. Something gentler, something rich pink.


Perhaps some of summer's last flurry of roses.

Or perhaps zinnias. When I planted the seeds I expected to have the full range of Smartie colours in the picture on the packet but I have only had pink. The plants I put out to harden off in spring were almost devastated by those who leave silver trails; perhaps they have favourites, like many Smartie eaters and simply left all the pink ones. I love the brash openness of these flowers each with their carnival crown of tiny yellow stars.
But no, my choice was settled on roses. Was there ever any doubt? Zephirine Drouhin has bustled to the end of her season with superb floribundance and just one stem was all I needed. It rewards me with its scent, especially here in front of the kitchen window. Opening the window to let the house take in the last breath of summer, I work with the fragrance all around me. It calls to mind a wonderful passage by Jenny Joseph in her book Led by the Nose where she describes how the scent of roses always suggests that a special event is imminent.

Just a reminder that outside my window the seasons are sliding between summer and autumn.