I fell in love with the colorful trees when I lived in the upstairs of an old house in Greensboro, NC, in the late 1970s. A tall pink crepe myrtle bloomed right outside my bedroom window. My landlady’s first name was Myrtle, and I often think of her when the tree next to my house is in bloom.
The bright blossoms seem like a gift in late summer when the the fig tree has stopped giving, the tomato plants slow down, and the zinnias start looking a little dry. They remind me that each season has its own gifts for us.