On the way home from our cultural trek to Williamstown (I’ll write about that in a bit), we stopped at a landscape place, and the owner begged us to rescue this Black-Eyed-Susan, dying from heat and too little soil and water.

We took the plant home. My garden survived the 106 temperature recorded in our town yesterday, today was almost as bad,  but the last gladiola gave it up. I took one last photo of the living gladiolas and thanked them for their excellent service.

(The last Gladiola. Thanks to these beautiful flowers.)

My garden continues to prosper, and I have worked hard to add some new annuals to it; my garden has a lot of life left. I will definitely get some more Gladiolas next year.

But the heat is alarming. Many Americans and people worldwide have been feeling it for years now. We still have water, and we still have winter. So far, no fires. We are not smug; we know everything that is afflicting others will come our way and, in some ways, already has.

(New, we rescued one Sunflower, withering in a landscape carat.)

I have hope for the future, and I’m not giving that up.

My flowers have lifted me and many others this summer. I hope to be your color and light, now and for the future.

The rugged and willful Nastiriums never fail to delight me with their color and resilience. They were left for dead when I first bought them; they sing to me daily.

I got some lovely photos of Maria in a  museum this morning; I’m working on them next. I also took a selfie of us waiting for the curtain to go up at the Williamstown Theater Festival.