2021, plants

ferns

If someone did a Top Ten list of plants that inspire, ferns would be there. Mayapples would be there. Giant oak trees would be there. Flowers that show up on their own, and bloom at the edge of a paved street, for sure would be there. I’m talking about plants with personality, plants that stir the imagination, plants that make you smile. Plants that make you write a story. It’s a short list.

A field of wildflowers, as far as the eye can see. That kind of imagination.

Ferns. A stegosaurus stomps the ‘earth’, the way we imagine the earth looked millions of years ago. With each step, the ground thuds as the dinosaur moves past vegetation…huge, prehistoric ferns. Yeah, that kind of imagination.

So, ferns. This is what I love about ferns. Well, for one thing, they hang around all year. They survive the winter. Like we do.  They’re not fresh and robust when they meet the first light snowfall, or the last cold icy storm. But they don’t dry up and wither away, or lose all their leaves like some bigger, stronger, more impressive ‘plants’, otherwise known as trees. Buried under January’s coldest, iciest cover, the fern hunkers down, close to the ground. You scrape away the slush and snow and hardened icicles. And there’s a fern. I have respect for that.

Is there another plant that comes to life with the charm and charisma of a fern? I know, somebody’s gonna come up with some mushroom that pops up overnight in an interesting way. Nope, forget it, not good enough.

You can smell the scent of ‘earth’. And take in the filtered light shining from above through the branches of those tall awesome oak trees. Peculiar little mayapples cover the leafy-rich surface. And ferns.

2021

august

angelon

All those delicate flowers we planted in May, or June, they’re strong and showy now. Or they’ve withered and died. The tomatoes are tall, healthy, nearly out of control, ready to pick. And tall blades of grass that used to be bright green are a shamble of bent, disheveled straw.

The last days of summer always feel a bit restless. Maybe bittersweet. Like we’re living in yesterday’s moment, and holding off tomorrow’s worry. We try to relax, but there’s a nagging feeling … it’s almost gone.

2021, space, time

continuum

In high school physics class, I did a paper on the theory of relativity. I didn’t choose the subject. It was a random distribution of topics, and I was lucky enough to get the theory of relativity. I did the research, I typed up the words and wrote sentences and paragraphs, and I prepared and delivered a presentation. Did I understand anything about the theory of relativity? No. I didn’t understand it then. I don’t understand it now.

After our stand-in-front-of-the-class presentations, the teacher asked each student a series of questions. So I read what I’d prepared for my report, and he asked me question #1, which I don’t recall at all. I spoke some words, because I was aware that words were required under such circumstances. But I knew, and he knew, I had almost no real understanding of the subject matter. I finished speaking and looked at him, and he looked at me with something like a blank look on his face. He said, ‘okay’, and there was a pause, and he moved on to the next presentation.

It’s called mercy.

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© Etikser. All Rights Reserved.

Not my artwork on the wall. It was mass produced, and I bought it years ago. All other photos and images here are my own. They may not be used elsewhere or reblogged.

Please visit my other blog, Clover & Ivy, https://cloverandivy.wordpress.com.
I post mostly nature photos there.

2021, continuum

reflections



It’s a lull. It’s a pause. It’s a pendulum ready to swing. It’s a moment that hangs there. It’s a breath, and then it’s gone.





© Etikser. All Rights Reserved.

Not my artwork in first photo. It was mass produced, and I bought it years ago. All other photos and images here are my own. They may not be used elsewhere or reblogged.

Please visit my other blog, Clover & Ivy, https://cloverandivy.wordpress.com.
I post mostly nature photos there.

2021

above

You go outside, and it seems the whole neighborhood is asleep.

And there are fireflies. Not one or two. At least five or six. Why are they surprising? Why do they bring hope? Reassurance? Reassurance that with everything going on in the world, all is right with the trees and the stars, and you can still stand in the quiet, and take in the magic of the universe.

2021

out and about

Excitement and high pitched voices. Nothing you could recognize as words. It wouldn’t be going too far to call it squealing.

The sound of kids. The sound of kids heading somewhere with the pace they use when it’s just them. Kids with no grown-ups holding them back. Like … FREEDOM!

After a full minute of just sounds moving up the trail, two boys came around the bend on bikes. Maybe eight years old. Helmets. Full speed. Wheels bouncing over bumpy dirt. You know the rhythm of left/right, left/right. That standing-up kind of pedaling kids use when they want to go as fast as they can. All the time, their almost-yelling-we’re-so-excited-voices. Not indoor voices. No, definitely outdoor voices.

They looked and sounded like they’d been in timeout for a week, and were just released. Or they were pals who hadn’t seen each other for a long time. They sounded like it was Halloween night, and they just left home for a couple hours of fun, fun, fun. It sounded like the last day of school, in normal times.

Kids have their own version of YAY.

2021, life, pandemic

inertia

A year in pandemic is a bit like a long afternoon on the front porch. The same kind of boredom, but without the pleasant sense of relaxing. The same kind of inertia, but without the sweet breeze playing at the hair on the back of your head.

After months and months, the possibility you’ll come up with some motivation to think, oh yeah, that’s what I want to do…that possibility’s remote. It’s more like, let’s see, you ought to get up and clean out a couple of drawers. The other day I found a dollar bill in an old purse I hadn’t used in years. There was a spark of excitement, sort of delight, that lasted about one minute. Maybe I hoped it was a twenty dollar bill. At least a five.