Don't tell the butterflies how dismal things are, though; they're completely oblivious, not caring the least bit that the garden is once again my "wild child" -- unruly and rebelling against every boundary I've set. They're too busy flitting from zinnia to cosmos, hungrily drinking in every ounce of nectar, dancing through the air like tipsy ballerinas. As I sat on the garden bench, determining to see past the disarray and appreciate the beauty that was truly there, it occurred to me that I could be getting pictures of these 'painted ladies' so I dashed in the house to grab my camera.
Seated once again at my garden bench vantage point, I began to zoom in on the zinnias, as the butterflies would land. As I snapped close-ups of the butterflies, I started seeing my garden through a different lens, as it were. Not only were the butterflies stunning, but the dried flower heads in their starkness took on a beauty I had never noticed before.
Each spent flower head -- the zinnia with its ruffled petals, the Queen Anne's Lace with curly tendrils at the nape of its neck,
the cosmos looking like exploding fireworks -- holds the promise of gardens to come, each seed bursting with potential.