Aster season is over. These native asters have bushed out in the back yard, and in hot September bloom with bee movement, a wavering, psychedelic landscape. I do not like large, showy flowers. I prefer multitudes, coin-small, a wealth of pennies. Summers are itchy, puffy times for me. I’m not stricken by allergies but am feasted on by invisible insects. It’s tempting to sanitize the back yard, turn it into a staid, dead place. But then the asters bloom and the bees come, all different species, and this year I watched a pair of robin siblings squabble as they taught each other to fly and I lifted my dumbbells in the back yard, looking insane to them. The birds and the bees are my pets. The back yard is wild and alive with sex. We’re bordello madams, doing our part.

The Spotify embed isn’t working this morning so here’s a link, you beautiful, buzzing creatures.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3Xp0rs7Sr1fV2hxR9mJqLk?si=3fb5e90a32fc42e8