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.