You know that feeling of helplessness when you see someone ready to knock over a glass of water and you can't stop them in time? Or when you see something falling off the edge of the kitchen counter but you can't stop it from smashing on the floor? I look at my garden with that same terror and trepidation. It is the glass falling off the counter, it is a work of art ready to be torn, it is slowly, surely, steadily going to die soon. And there is nothing I can do about it. It is the curse and blessing of the late summer/early fall. Things are browning, shriveling, waning. The daylilies are yellowing. Annuals are tired after their marathon sprint to set seed and complete their lifecycle. Roses sigh from all their abuse by Japanese beetles. It is the normal annual decline of the garden, but it is ominous and heartbreaking at the same time. Glorious asters and mums will be in bloom soon, but the petunias will be bedraggled and sulky. Grasses will throw up their fluffy plumes, but the vegetables will be on their last legs. The leaves will begin changing into their glowing warm colors and learning their lines for the Final Act. It's the slow-mo come-and-go of the garden, but it feels like I am waiting for something to drop and smash on the floor.

— Michelle Byrne Walsh