I am feeling the bittersweet ache of late summer when cool evenings begin to brush alongside warm days. Too soon, my heart calls out, I need more time in the garden. Time to sit, to soak, to pretend it will always be like this.
A star of my late summer garden is the hosta, 'Royal Standard'. I have a pair of them framing a collection of white astilbe and goatsbeard, fronted with some rose daphne. I love their gleaming, corrugated, almost lime, foliage. However, unusual for a hosta, the real draw, for me, is the white, scented flowers.
The flowers are just coming into their own right now and hold sway with their fresh evening perfume
The funnel shaped flowers look like the skirts of long, white, hem-stitched cotton dresses
Elegant, demure, and just a little flirty, they lead the evening waltzes at the beachside dance halls in the old summer villages.
I'm not ready to hear the last song yet, so keep dancing girls, keep dancing.