The Sage
The sage is in bloom. I’ve waited all summer. But the sage likes rain to bloom. None came. Now it has. Rain has fallen. Two of my three plants are resplendent in their glory of purple and gray. One, however, burned badly in the big freeze, has yet to full recover. It’s trying, but it is mostly gray with some purple. A sad bloom. It will heal in time. Just as all wounds heal in time. But the going is slow, and if it had feelings, it would probably be envious of its brother just across the drive, heavy with purple flowers.
I wish there was something I could do to help the sage heal, but my power is limited. I’ve done all I can. Cleared the ground of competing plants. Trimmed out the deadwood. I could mulch the ground around its feet, to keep it cool. That might help. And maybe I will do that. But I have a feeling this is just something the plant needs to do on its own. And maybe it will never heal. And maybe its blooms will always be light. As with everything, time will tell.
I remember when the big oaks, suffering from lack of water seemed to die, and the inexperienced me had them trimmed back. They looked frightful. I yearned for the glory of the dead oaks. But I soon turned my attention to the living. I sought the counsel of an arborist. Took his advice. Cleared out the ground around their feet, mulched it, put it complementary plants, trimmed out more deadwood, and now the big oaks look truly big once again. Of course, I remember what I lost, but I glory in what I have. And no one else cares. Because most people only know the trees as they are rather than what they were.
John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver's Tale