Posts Tagged flowers

Worktable dressing.

Sometimes they help with the stories; really, they do.

Even as they’re pure distraction, to rest and pleasure the eyes

for as long as their season lasts,

as long as they are rich and luscious,

and emit from within a plush and regal depth,

every petal sumptuous, every stamen and pistil

glamorous in the infolding fibonacci wound so tight

three dimensions cannot contain their splendor.

 

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Flowers, writes, and leaves.

Just over the rim of my screen

one or sometimes many blooms watch me

build my stories, record the voices.

While just outside the door

voracious virid leaves

pull sunlight

and greenhouse gases

to fuel their roots

and stems


and flowers.

Everything else distracts, the green world settles and binds.

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A flit of piques peaks peeks.

 

We’d come to the compost heap to harvest a poke of genetically dubious
volunteer squash and melons.

Shot a shaggy shadow self.

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Lifting eyes to the hills,
the compost enjoys a 360° sweep,
when the hay’s cut,

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of all our ring of mountains.

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Everywhere, first signs of the retarded deployment of fall colors.

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October 15th used to be middle of the range for peak color
in the middle elevations,

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but in this ever-warming century it’s past Halloween,
sliding towards Thanksgiving.

While, beside the monitor, the last of the color
drains from compost-ready cut flowers,
in splendid decadence.

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Autumn weeds.

Colors just happen in the fall.

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Abundance of don’t-forget-to-touch-mes,

 but calming now, no longer explosive.

Truth, beauty, decay.

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Sumac works through orange

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into its final reds.

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Spent and pulling back, residue of bloom.

Quiet all summer, the chimney rose seizes the day.

Still just a scatter, it’s early days.

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Weeds are flowers

you don’t have to cultivate.

Sometimes the best colors

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aren’t hardly colors at all.

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Deadheads.

Four pictures of the same

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heap of discarded flowerheads.

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You have to pull the finished flowers

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so the next generation of buds

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will have nutrients and space enough to bloom.

The jumble of fading stems and petals
like a heap of exhausted partygoers
collapsed after the champaign’s gone
caught by the rising sun.

They’d make a lovely jigsaw puzzle.

 

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Flower surround.

One quick turn around the house,

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all the usual suspects

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in quiet riot,

swaying in the soft summer afternoon,

having done everything they need to do,

flush with pollen.

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Easy living, flora.

The tall flowers, all at once.

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A rose leaning languorously on the wire.

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Everything is full out.

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The day lilies go

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on

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and on

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in an almost silly abundance.

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Hydrangea row

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shows no signs of slacking off

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in any of the varieties.

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On and on.

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The timid little flowers in the rail pot have filled out.

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The under story is at maximum,
from the ground reaching up among the low branches of the trees,
all the little weeds, all the middle weeds, all the giant weeds.

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And this, of course, is the first sign of the end of summer
the fullness before the finish.

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Tra la.

Clematis clings and climbs up its arbor
clutching at the chimlee.
Almost … 

… and all the way open.

Azealia bumper bloom this year, in red.

so red,
and pink,

and whatever color this is
from the new bush down the lawn.
Calycanthus has too many common names:

carolina allspice, strawberry-bush,

 sweet bubby, sweet betsy, and spicebush.

Money plant is one common name for a dozen little bushes,
mostly succulents,
that produce some sort of coin shape from the flowers.
This version makes translucent papery discs
later in the summer.
Now it’s purely purple blooms.

Cucumber magnolia flowers,
ten feet to sixty up the tree,
the first bloom are big enough for salad.
Another month, big enough to make a dinner plate.

A new-sprouted dahlia, beginning the long climb
up the flower cage.

Comfrey accidentally thriving in its own
little village of native weeds.

 A lovely composition to which our contribution
was the not cutting down.

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Eats, shoots, and leaves.

It was a hard freeze, down to 26°F,
but just for a few hours.
A little damage, that could have been much worse.

Crab apple blooms burned, but not blasted,
abuzz today with pollinators.

Pansies in the pot, okay.

Oxeyes, or hawksbeard, is everywhere.

Swampwort, singular.

Swampwort, plural.

Early rising mayapple,
first of the millions to come.

Herb garden just after takeoff,
landing gear tucked up, and ready for the long flight.

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Peat pellet hatchlings.

Hostas strangely enthusiastic,
as if they knew — something.

Camera killing azalea blossoms one week from full flower
also survived the freeze.

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Cluster of pear blossoms, likewise unperturbed.

Up the orchard, all the relics that remain,

some in flower first, some in leaf first,
all accept the swell of spring.

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Snow dusted cusp.

Stepping forward and back over the equinox.

Full bloom yesterday.

Half way to full.

Bulbs are up & out.

And perennials are being what they are.

The herb sagacious.

While randomly walking by,
our cracked corn tom, proves as camera shy as huge.

Brought inside to save them from the frost.

We had to kill them to save them,
though it did not hurt us more.

This way we may enjoy their last days close up.

Four inches of snow fell here today:
the first two vanished as they landed,
the third sank slowly into the ground,
but the fourth covered everything
as the temperature fell under freezing.

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Summer color wrap up.

The color’s right, but
I’m not persuaded these can be crabby apples,
half the size of grapes.

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White with yellow pollen curls, one shy bee.

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White and golden pollen.

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Pale butter yellow, minutes from finishing.

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Halloween orange and pollen gold.

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Gaudy glistening glad.

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Softly spikey, opening for business.

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Spiral down and out, dusted from the day’s work.

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A table treat, just beyond my screen,
table treasure cut.

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Meanwhile, in the grass, sign of summer’s end,

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previews colors to come.

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Getting it done.

They’ve got all summer now,
so you’d think
IMG_20150510_192730257there’s no reason for hurry.
IMG_20150524_202703559But they’ve each signed up for a very particular window.
IMG_20150524_202026448Get it up, get it open, let it down, thank you ma’am.
IMG_20150524_201927774It can be a dirty business,
IMG_20150524_201948270leave you tired, arrayed in droopy fading splendor.
IMG_20150524_202549544Unless you claim the ground that holds you, the air you breathe.
IMG_20150524_202224250Unless you’re lemon balm
IMG_20150524_202301192or peppermint
IMG_20150524_202323055then nothing messes with you,
you’re locked on for perpetuity.

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