Dear Bacon Friends – I just spent several nights at my parents’ home, and in my mother’s garden the flowers were whispering rather loudly amongst themselves…

In the magical garden
September Cle – o – me
feel bound by the ground
so they aim for the sky.

Oh sky, Oh sky! Cry September Cle – o – me,
We do not know why but we must reach the sky!

(Though the sun’s light wanes in September.)

The sturdy liriope
all in a row
bloom purple and perfect
and steady, just so –

alongside September Cle – o – me.

In the magical garden
the ruffalo marigold
glimmer and glow in their prettiest dresses –

We couldn’t care less, say Cle – o – me.

In the magical garden
the phlox bow their heads in their grief
with the weight of their days and their nights.

Look up! Say September Cle – o – me.

 

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The new terminal at the Nashville airport looks AMAZING!!

 

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