Dried dogwood

Dave had the water going on the dogwood when I got home today. It may be too late to keep any of the leaves from curling up into crispiness.

I was watering it earlier this summer, and then I kind of got distracted and the tree reflects my neglect.

I remember standing out in the yard holding a hose in late July. I know I was out there the week after my father died, because it occurred to me how often I had seen my dad standing in the yard, summer evenings, watering the shrubs. And our yard in Pawnee Rock had a lot of shrubs. He’d stand there with the hose, moving from one plant to the next, swatting at gnats or mosquitoes, wearing his straw hat, long-sleeved shirt and overalls.