Sunflower Sky
Sunflower Sky
Sunflower rising, face to the sun,
A quiet hymn when the day’s begun.
Petals of gold, a lantern’s flame,
In wind and silence, it calls my name.
Welcoming warmth, a gentle sigh,
Summer’s farewell beneath August sky.
The Garden in Mid-August
Here in Colorado, August is the season of harvest. The tomatoes glow red in their bowls, peppers curl with wild green energy, and the flowers spill color across every edge of the garden. It is a month both generous and fleeting, because September promises chill and the first hints of snow.
This year my garden has been a collaboration: myself, the animals, and the unseen hand that spins the seasons above. From seeds I never planted — the castoffs of birdseed scattered last winter and spring — came an unexpected profusion of wild sunflowers. They’ve sprouted in pots meant for peppers, in planters filled with herbs, and in corners I’d forgotten to tend. They rise like sentinels, leaning, tilting, stretching toward the sky, their golden crowns turning ordinary afternoons into something almost sacred.
I’ll admit — the snakes have tested me. I don’t like them, and their sudden appearances unsettle the peace. Squirrels and mice, too, have made their claim on this little plot. Yet somehow, the sheer abundance of sunflowers has balanced the scales, restoring calm where unease crept in. Their presence has been a reminder: that beauty often comes unbidden, and that even what feels discarded can return as a gift.
The birds and I, we’ve been in dialogue all year long. I began feeding them last season, a small gesture of hospitality in the long winter. They answered by planting a garden of their own choosing — a scatter of seed become a field of gold.
So this painting, Sunflower Sky, isn’t just about a flower. It’s about a season — a reminder that gardens are never ours alone. They are shaped by weather, by wildlife, by hidden hands and unexpected visitors. And in the end, when August wanes and the days shorten, I’ll remember the sunflowers most: their faces lifted high, their roots tangled with mine, their presence softening even my fear of what slithers beneath the leaves.
It has been, in every sense, a collaboration worth celebrating.
