September garden | composerinthegarden

Every day I see or hear something that more or less kills me with delight, that leaves me like a needle in the haystack of light. ~Mary Oliver

After a seven week-long drought, four days of slow steady rain arrived exactly on the September equinox. The constant rain healed the deep cracks of dried earth and gradually refreshed and revived the trees, plants, and wildlife. Constant morning fog was catnip to this photographer.

The sweet smell of dry earth refreshed by rain, known as petrichor, filled my senses for days. The woodland path held that scent the longest, the first place Pixie and I explore each morning.

The ferns and sedges came back to life quickly, as green as if it were spring again.

The circle garden was showing some tattered damage from the weather extremes, but somehow looked gloriously lush in the fog.

I was struck by the layers and textures in this photo, so I decided to create a black and white version.

In some ways, I like this one better, as it emphasizes the layers and depth as well as the range from light to dark in this part of the garden. What do you think?

In contrast, the copper corner was a riot of color that required the full spectrum treatment.

Everywhere I walked, everywhere I looked, I was surrounded by notes of beauty. I began to notice the smallest lovely detail and the largest sweep of color and texture. I was walking through a liminal moment in time, the earth balanced between a change in seasons while the fog seemed to stretch and elongate that moment in an otherworldly fashion.

I tried to capture those moments of beauty in the garden with this video, hosted by the inimitable Miss Pixie.

And finally, I was editing photos for this post on my back deck when I suddenly realized that the late afternoon light had changed to a rosy glow. I looked up from the laptop and saw glimpses of a vibrant sunset through the trees. Entranced, I spent the next half hour simply watching the sunset deepen and finally fade. I’m not adept at taking sunrise or sunset photos but my friend Mary Pegher is. With her permission, I’m including one of her stunning images of sunrise over a foggy lake in our nearby county park. Oddly enough, I had asked Mary if I could include her photo in this post a day before I experienced that beautiful sunset. Synchronicity lives. Photo credit: ©Mary Pegher 2025 Used with permission.

I hope you are having a marvelous change of seasons wherever you live and that you find yourself surrounded by moments of beauty in the coming days.

I believe the future is only the past again, entered through another gate. ~Pinero

The first thing visitors encounter when they come to my garden is the open space outside of the garden gate where the wild things roam – deer, rabbits, groundhogs, raccoons, and wild turkeys. The gardens have to withstand creature browsing of all kinds, so sturdy shrubs, trees, ornamental grasses and various herbs and native plants dominate the plantings. A terra cotta birdbath anchors the beds of herbs and native plants and the fences are lined with tall shrubs and trees that shelter and protect the garden behind the gate. This year, a self-sown woodland tobacco plant (Nicotiana sylvestris) makes a tall bold statement.

A narrow path along the north side of the house leads to “Zelda”, a face planter with golden Japanese forest grass (Hakonechloa) for hair, and then to a patio that used to be a fenced dog pen. This is a favorite summer dining and lounging spot, shaded by tall oaks and cooled by a steady breeze from the north.

Opening the gate draws visitors into the lush gardens within; the arbor surrounding it stands as a defining symbol for the liminal space between the outside and inside gardens. Part Two of Opening the Gate, here are a few images of the “outside” gardens as they appeared to my visitors a few weeks ago. (Click on any photo to see a larger image. All photos ©2014 Lynn Emberg Purse, All Rights Reserved)