Lughnasa Harvest Moon
Bet you’ve never heard of a perfume called bugbane. It’s no name for a fragrance and 
probably not a familiar plant, but it is one of the joys of early fall. It’s fluffy white racemes give off a scent that brings to mind gardenia and jasmine, scents of a late night drive along the Kona coast with the top down, coming back from a day exploring Hilo and Volcanoes National Park. Yet here they grace a plant named like a weed. If you see one somewhere, stop a moment. The bugbane will transport you somewhere, somewhere pleasant.
One more run at the creeping charlie this morning, utilizing that fall plant habit of storing food in the roots.
To be outside in the morning, a cool morning, in the dying garden, rejuvenates me. The deaths of the plants follows a long and, should I say it, fruitful life, so no unusual grief, just the bracing sense death gives to those of us who continue to live.
