By late summer, our garden already begins to fade. Stems bow under their own weight and seed heads replace flowers. Leaves wither and curl in the sun, and what looked lush only weeks ago has now become stranger and more sculptural.
Seeds fall into the soil, and animals scurry for what the flowers leave behind. Insects disappear into hollow stems, and fallen leaves begin their slow return to the earth. The garden is already making next year from the remains of this one.
Our early-autumn photojournal is a study of that transformation: beauty after bloom, form after flower, and the strange generosity of a garden allowed to die on its own terms.
