Tiger, tiger

July 4, 2015 | Tim Krone | Noise

Yesterday I ran through the woods with a man who suggested that tiger lilies are a harbinger of winter. I suppose, if you take a long enough view, everything is a harbinger of winter. Or death. Or the end of the world.

But I could not disagree more about tiger lilies.

Tiger lilies remind me of the heat of summer, of sweat running into my eye sockets, of asking strangers if I might fill my water bottles from their hose, of the ceiling fan above my bed spinning as fast as possible, of sunburn.

Of right now. Here. In Michigan.

It is plain that the author was more intent on his bike ride than on taking a decent picture of flowers.
It is plain that the author was more intent on his bike ride than on taking a decent picture of flowers.