In Cuyahoga Valley, plants bloom like colored dominos. They collapse quietly into autumn, where only the trained ear can hear aster falling into goldenrod. Many blooms are far down the line, so they stretch upward into canopies to pass the time. As summer flows, a visitor to the valley’s forests may come out of anticipation for the next domino, a fresh world of color whose turn it is to roll under green shade.

One of the last pieces is Wingstem. Wingstem grows tall. It disregards limits of height and becomes a shroud for critters come July. I await its bloom, it is my call of anticipation, my favorite domino. In August, a marshy forest floor becomes hazy with its yellow carona. At the speed of light, the yellow petals thrust the thick purple of Ironweed into the eyes of all onlookers. Wingstem, like all late blooming flowers, feels as though it is a promise kept by God and that the world will continue in color even as the other flowers ripen into fruit.