It is high summer in the garden here on the hillside right now. It is a small hill and the only 'Lucifer' in sight is the crocosmia which is blooming flame red. Hydrangea leaves wilt in the sun even with ample moisture at their feet and the whine of cicadas slices through the still silence of summer. The spicy scent of tomato greens hangs in the heavy morning air as I flick the little suckers off the plants to keep the plants a bit tidier and inside their cages. My fingers turn green along with my thumb. The plants are laden with unripe tomatoes. It will be a few weeks before they turn red. This past spring was stingy with warmth. The tomatoes are off and running now, reaching a good five feet into the sky. It is a small forest of tomatoes. In the borders the black cohosh is blooming. Ironically, it has spikes of white flowers which bloom from the bottom up to the top. They are covered with bumbles and their scent is heavy and perfumed. Daylily days are upon us. It seems a long wait for their luscious flowers. This plant spends the spring forming a multitude of buds all of which bloom for just one day. Tragedy is rampant in a garden. Morning coffee is in one hand while the other is busy snipping the sodden messes of yesterday's blooms from the plants in order to make them photo worthy. It is a chore which I realize would lose its allure if I had to do it every day of the year. The days of high summer are few. Garden chores are best done early leaving the hot afternoons to more peaceful pastimes.