Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Sunflower Dust

I cut the sunflowers down today.  I chopped them in half, toppling the dry hollow stalks with a pair of yellow hand-clippers.  They gave off a white powder as they fell, spackles of white dancing with the dust motes floating in an Indian summer haze. 

Oh, seven-foot sunflowers, I remember when you were so strong.  Your stems so thick and vibrant green.  How you grew so tall I had to bind you to the garden gate with twine.  Then a pink bungee cord.  Then a purple one.  Then strips of a flannel shirt I ripped apart one night when I drank too much wine.   

Your blooms are brittle and dried-out now, sagging toward the earth and tangling with the rotting squash vine.  I unwound your supports today, one by one.  I dropped them in a bucket, to be stored in a forgotten corner of the garage, until next year when new seeds are planted and you rise and stretch to the sun again. 


  1. Pretty post Sophie! Can't wait until your book comes out:)

  2. Loved this post!!! So special!! Having just fallen across your blog I'm excited to follow you in the future! The title of your book sounds awesome!

  3. This reads like prose! So very nice. What a great first blog post!
    Thanks for bringing it by the party!

  4. Are those your sunflowers? Wow! Sweet post.

  5. Oh, Sophie!!! This is beautiful!! Only someone who has grown sunflowers can fully comprehend their magnificence - and the sorrow of cutting them down.

    Reading this reminded me of how my son would laugh as the stalks grew as tall as, and then higher, than him. The only solace in cutting them was his joy in baking the seeds in the oven!


  6. Beautiful thoughts! I had no idea that you had to cut down sunflowers every year.