These days I see few people. I spend much of each day in my gardens.

There is weeding and transplanting, watering and staking to be done. Also picking off the Japanese beetles of which, unlike other years, there is only a hint this summer. And then I sit in my Adi­rondack chair, taking it all in, sometimes a glass of wine in hand, sometimes food morsels for the chipmunks or munchies for myself, most of the time just being still and letting the experience wash over me. Not infrequently, I say out loud to myself, “I am so content here.”

Then I hear footsteps, someone walking by in the alley on the other side of my high old wooden fence. I marvel at all they are missing: a squirrel high up in the dogwood bush, munching on the purple berries; several chipmunks scurrying about for the treats I’ve thrown for them; bunnies, one, two, even three contentedly munching on the clover in my lawn; monarch butterflies fluttering about in a lilting monarch dance; even a black swallowtail sipping from my bergamot.

I have a bird bath as well as a Japanese lilac tree in my yard, two burning bushes that have grown as high as my garage roof, and a yew tree that is now stretching higher than my fence. Thus, I see and hear a myriad birds in the trees: downy woodpeckers, blue jays, cardinal couples, chickadees singing their happy “dee dee dee” song. Robins, nuthatches, my little house wrens treating me to their charming trills, goldfinches loving the seeds from the Joe pye weed, echinacea, and variegated astilbe. The crows and the ubiquitous sparrows.

The mason bee tower attached to the garage is still empty. But bumblebees, honey bees, yellow jackets, and wasps abound on the many flowering plants, including most recently my red, white, and yellow dahlias.

The dragonflies this summer have been spectacular — various sizes and brilliant colors, their gos­samer wings always a delight. As I watch them, I am reminded that (as the internet informs me) “dragonflies symbolize wisdom, change, transformation, light and adaptability in life.” They “show up… to remind {people} that they need to bring a lightness and joy to their lives.” How fitting for these dark times!

I am not able this year to host the annual garden parties that I have enjoyed for many summers — friends, family, neighbors, book group, women’s group each here in their own time to enjoy my gardens and time together. Though I miss these times, I am also aware that I relish the alone time in my gardens, the time to be truly still and deeply immersed in all that I see, hear, and feel there.

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[ Note added 2020-07-27: ] Yesterday I saw the season’s first hummingbird on my honeysuckle bush. That made my day, together with two chipmunks munching on cherry pits and a baby bunny enjoying the clover in my lawn. The gardens are a splash of color.