My balcony's barren summer

The coming of autumn in Finland makes me more melancholic than it should. The Nordic climate is so schizophrenic, with nature's heightened summer recklessness and deep winter reclusiveness, that passing from one to the other cannot but be traumatic.

The box on my balcony failed once again to yield any flora this year. I followed the instructions carefully, planting the right number of bulbs, at the right time for the latitude, the right way up, with the right amount of soil, providing the right quantities of water. No joy.

Now the sunny September days carry the threat of things to come, with a chill bite lurking in the air. The box, unfulfilled, is emptied once more.