'Be alive, until you are not'

     Sunday was a beautiful day at the Chicago Botanic Garden. That's about all I have to say. Families out in abundance, the hot weather banished, for now, the rains pausing.

     The day before had been a rainy washout. I announced to Edie that we'd grab an umbrella and go show solidarity with the sodden marchers. But Northbrook cancelled the parade. They did keep the fireworks show, which we can see from the end of our block — most years. This year it was barely a colorful glow in the fog, as neighbors streamed past us, back from the viewing areas, announcing the whole thing a dud.

     Not a problem with the pyrotechnics on display at the Botanic Garden. The recent rains seem to have supercharged nature's bounty.
     I was so taken with the bold symmetry of the plants above that I didn't bother noting what they are. Cabbages, I believe.

     Meanwhile, below are flowers on a vertical flowerbed — a grid mounted to a wall, quite a handsome effect.

     I should probably leave it there, but you come here for something to chew on, so let us turn to that bard of nature's balm, Mary Oliver, who celebrates, "The singular and cheerful life/of any flower," to whit, "its obedience to the holiest of laws; be alive/until you are not."

    The poem goes on from there, but you get the picture.