Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,
Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie

Here’s to the stargazers among us. We tend to walk with tilted heads, with eyes towards the infinite. Time is marked by the celestial dance. We are but brief witnesses—spectators watching the play unfold and yet knowing we are a part of it just the same. The masses are busily scurrying about, thinking the universe wraps around them. Look up on a crisp September night to find the truth of the matter. We are nothing but fireflies to the universe. And yet we burn brightly for our brief moment.

The garden is fading rapidly, but some of its stars rise just in time to save the season. Sedum autumn joy blushes for all the attention it receives from the bees. Chrysanthemums, top-heavy with blooms, positively glow even as their neighbors bow with fatigue. The Montauk daisies (Nipponanthemum nipponicum) are just now budding, promising their own show in days to come. These are days we’ll remember, the garden reminds us, in the long nights of winter coming soon enough.

Isn’t it strange how we feel most alive as the days grow shorter? Is it heightened attention or a building sense of urgency to squeeze more awareness into this brief fling with the sun? I think it’s appreciation for the beautiful dance and gratefulness for being a dancer ourself. To mourn the season coming to a close is to miss the sparkling rise of the next. We must be active gardeners in this life, no matter the season at hand. Look around, for magic is all around us.