As often happens
in the mid-fire season gloom
of September in southern Oregon,
with smoke obscuring the sun
and stunting the growth of so many
plants, a struggling nasturtium
on the back porch
eked out a few green leaves
and an orange flower.
I'd say it brings hope and joy,
but mostly it brings sadness
about what-could-have-been-if:
Not really a nameless discontent.
More of a wishful, wistful memory
of sunny days past when the roses
bloomed fully, pumpkins plumped,
nasturtiums were full, ferns robust.
