August’s Quiet Creation: Joseph Wood Krutch and Helen Winslow on Summer’s Richness
Today's Garden Words were featured on The Daily Gardener podcast:
Words inspired by the garden are the sweetest,
most beautiful words of all.
August 21, 2019
On this day, when the air hangs thick with sunlight and the gardens hum with a slow, golden rhythm, we find ourselves in the very heart of the year — a season neither in haste nor in want.
The days lean heavily on their own abundance, the soil sighs with effort well spent, and we, dear gardeners, stand both triumphant and wistful amidst our handiwork.
"August creates as she slumbers, replete, and satisfied."
— Joseph Wood Krutch
How tenderly true those words ring! August does not labor, she luxuriates.
She rests in her own creation, the very embodiment of the garden after its grand performance.
The peonies and roses have taken their bows, the delphiniums stand tall as faded sentinels, and the dahlias — those daring divas — stride onto the stage with unapologetic flair.
The gardener’s task now is not invention, but admiration: to walk the paths slowly, to deadhead mindfully, to water not from duty but devotion.
It is a month of satiation — the garden’s nap after a feast.
And yet, amid the languor, there is a call.
"The brilliant poppy flaunts her head amidst the ripening grain, and adds her voice to swell the song that August's here again."
— Helen Winslow
What a vision that is — the poppy, that wild and reckless creature, shimmering like a secret in the field’s soft gold.
While others droop under the weight of ripeness, she dances. Her scarlet petals are the blush on the cheek of summer itself, reminding us that even in repose there is splendor.
The poppy does not need a purpose; her purpose is to delight. And so should ours be, at least for a moment.
August, with her full fruit and sleepy afternoons, invites us to linger: to taste the tomato warmed by the sun, to arrange a loose bouquet of zinnias, to lose track of time in the soft hum of bees.
The garden does not demand perfection now — only presence.
For this is the month of serene abundance, of still beauty, of gratitude earned through toil and trowel.
So linger, sweet gardener. August creates in her sleep; may you, too, find creation in your rest.
Go now and walk through your garden at dusk — hear the earth’s quiet lullaby, feel the breath of summer on your cheek, and know that both you and the season are, at last, replete and satisfied.