Posts Tagged seeds

Seasonal affect.

Alas, the deer do really like the glads.
These are all stubs now after the two does with twins
and the single mother came hungry in the night.

We were allowed to cut a few fronds
before the conversion to venison.

The marigolds stand sentry,
repelling some classes of pests, or so the story goes.

Just pretty in the late afternoon.

Probably there’s no discussion between these two,
just a leaf rolled up and over,
unless it is a snake disguised in molt.

These guys bloom upside down
and close their petals in seeming modesty
most of the hours of the day.

The cosmos bloomed over the tomatoes in gay abandon.
They’re not, apparently, on the approved cervid menu,
unlike nearly everything else.
It isn’t likely the fence offers them much protection.

The pines would mark the middle of a forest of pines
if all the seeds on all the cones struck dirt
and weren’t mowed down and weren’t pushed back
by the equally eager advancing clusters
of locusts, poplars, maples, and oaks.

If flowers were subject to tavern regulations
these petals would snap shut and this stumble bee
be forbidden from loading more pollen.

When they grow beyond supporting ties
and their own strength,
the snapped-off heads may live again,
for a day, as a table bouquet.

Afterwords, with all the ret, they’ll settle
on top of the dead-head heap.

Journey’s end for all the worn blossoms;
many stages yet to pass
in the transition back into the soil
they sprang from,
but their last transits as discrete entities.
Entropy moves in for the easy win
as all the structures degrade and simplify
until an accidental or an intended seed
blows up through the detritus
and declares life’s victory in a fresh year.

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Rows to hoe.

Food, in process here, uses the instructions coded in the seeds

with water and nutrients pulled from soil,

drawing gasses from the air and photosynthetic magic from the sun

transubstantiates through the leaves, to become
tomatos and potatos and cucumbers and eggplant and peppers and peas.

Watching from below, a volunteer stand of fennel, seven feet high,
hunkers by the swamp and wonders about its own lush abandon.

The basil is table-ready.

While, stepping carefully down the steps in the herb garden

or rock garden, or perennial garden,
steeper than it looks,

you meet a hundred varieties of flower and herb

ground cover, moss and lichen putting on their summer dress,
and waiting appreciation, weeding and water.

Another variety of long-row work, when the wrens had stolen all
the strands of shredded coconut for their nests
from the sister of this pot,

the wool yarn left from a dozen projects was knit big
and felted small enough to snug into the basket.


While indoors, at the keyboard, I hoe my own long row, the WIP,
graced by, nourished by, the roses set beside me

by that gardener, and knitter, and 43-year companion of my heart.

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