I am reminded of a line from my own musings upon how at summer’s end in northern Ontario the fields fallow and being reclaimed by the bush provide a show that is “August all goldenrod and aster”. I have been put in mind of this by “Thirst” by Amy Lowell which I read in a volume edited by Honor Moore. My associations are blooming time, Lowell’s, night blooming and scent. I will always now think of primroses as comrades of the stars. You too, likely.
Far out on the grass. And every gust
Of light night wind comes laden with the scent
Of opening flowers which never bloom by day
Night-scented stocks, and four-o’clocks, and that
Pale yellow disk, upreared on its tall stalk
The evening primrose, comrade of the stars.
I know in Lowell’s lines there is only one but inevitably I socialize and invoke a plural comrades.
And so for day 280