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Shearing the lavender always makes me feel sad–a wistful sort of melancholy awareness that summer cannot last forever.  I leave the faded stalks on the shrublets far longer than I should, because though the flowers have long since dried, the hummingbirds are hovering in it, searching out the last bits of purple for nectar.

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Even now, it releases its dreamy, soothing fragrance as I walk through it–shears slicing carefully so that I don’t disturb the bees that dance in it still.

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Adieu Lavande…à bientôt!

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