The red-hot-poker grows stiff
and straight, but the ragged sailor goes uncombed and untidy still.
Cosmos is coming soon, dressed in her very feminine clothes, and the
coreopsis has come on ahead. All old-timers are represented there,
honeysuckle, wormwood, petunias, rosemary, gilias, mignonette,
heliotrope and foxgloves. If they can not all be there together, all are
there at some time in the summer. Montbretia, Japanese sunflower,
larkspur, columbine and gourds all have their time and place and
opportunity in this San Francisco garden. And the hollyhocks, the bossy
things, I've a mind to leave them out. Besides I know some gossip about
them. When Zoe was away to Yosemite one morning they were all leaning
over from too much moonshine or too much sunshine and - well, I won't
repeat what the marigolds told me about them.
Besides it is time to come away from Zoe's garden, which is everybody's
garden.
Children on the Sidewalk
When you were a little girl, when you were a little boy, where did you
play? Was it in a barn? Was it a city park? Did you hunt gophers on the
plains of Iowa? Perhaps it was in a California poppy field. Perhaps a
graveyard. I played in one, and remember very vividly the grave of
Josephine Sarah Huthinson who died at the age of 11 months, and had a
little lamb on the top of her stone and an inscription: "Except ye
become as little children ye shall not enter into the Kingdom of
Heaven.
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