The days are getting cooler and shorter. I’m welcoming the former with open arms while simultaneously bluntly ignoring the latter.
My plants are still vibrantly blooming. Their vivid purples, yellows, and greens welcome me home when I skip up my porch steps. As I admire their beauty, I can’t help but dread the day I come home and see the dead leaves outnumbering the live ones. I know it’s inevitable; everything beautiful and lovely can’t last forever.
The looming threat of an icy winter awaits just around the corner, smirking as it gets ready to destroy anything alive that doesn’t seek refuge.
But for now, while my plants are blooming and the sunshine sneaks through the clouds in the autumn sky, I won’t give seasonal depression the opportunity to envelope my mind. I won’t think too much about all how the light has drained from the sky by seven pm. No, not while my plants are still blooming.
“Give me a few more weeks,” I demand to the crisp chill in the air. “Let my babies bloom for just a few more weeks.”