1267. The air is different today; the wind sings with a new tone sighing of changes coming as barbarous summer dies… ~Edited and adapted line by Rhawk

“I grow old, I grow old,”
the garden says.
It’s nearly October.
~Robert Finch

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The gentian’s bluest fringes
Are curling in the sun;
In dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun.

The sedges flaunt their harvest,
In every meadow nook;
And asters by the brook-side
Make asters in the brook,

From dewy lanes at morning
The grapes’ sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies.

By all these lovely tokens
September days were here…
~Adapted part of a poem
by Helen Hunt Jackson

All things must come to an end and I can’t say I’m sorry to see summer finally go! We’ve had some lovely cool mornings of late and warm, honeyed afternoons, not hot but warm, and that is such a relief! I pray that as we welcome October tomorrow, this is the way we’ll continue be blessed in the coming days. And I pray also that my split, milkweed seed pods will attract a migrating monarch butterfly or two, that is if there are any of them left as they have been and are endanger of extinction due to merciless, habitat destruction.

Teach me, Lord, the way of your decrees, that I may follow it to the end. ~ Psalm 119:33 ✝

709. We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with sleep. ~William Shakespeare

We live in between the act of awakening
and the act of surrender.
Each morning, we awaken to light,
and the invitation to a new day
in the world of time;
each night, we surrender to the dark
to be taken to play in the world of dreams
where time is no more.
~John O’Donohue

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We become not a melting pot
but a beautiful mosaic.
Different people, different beliefs
different yearnings, different hopes,
different dreams.
~Jimmy Carter
but
God’s gifts put man’s
best dreams to shame.
~Elizabeth Barrett Browning

The name of this wonderful pink rose is Belinda’s Dream, and since she is one of my favorites, I have two of them planted in different places my yard. Her blooms, especially in the spring and the fall, are always and definitely the stuff of which my garden dreams are made. And whenever I photograph her, I always think to myself, “What beautiful dreams, she, whose name this rose bears, must have.”  I wonder who she is!

For God does speak–now one way, now another– though no one perceives it. In a dream, in a vision in the night, when deep sleep falls on people as they slumber in their beds. He may speak in their ears… ~Job 33:14-16a   ✝