If I had a dream ship, I'd steer it backward. I'd anchor to a day in August, when the last blooms didn't know they'd be the last blooms. I'd pick enough for a winter's-worth of books.
But until then, I'll enjoy what I've already planted.
Or what others have planted for me. I found this little cluster of leaves in a second-hand copy of Scott's The Lady of the Lake, and have left them just as they are.
August days feel closest when I can open up a book and a flower opens, too.