I witness fruit ready to pick.
I witness growth already harvested, ready to harvest, and growth still growing.
I witness Peace.
|Sambucus canadensis pending flora.|
|Ribes nigrum, fuctus ripening and herba awaiting harvest.|
|A front yard patch of happy, smiling meadow.|
What the neighbors must think.
And I hope they're thinking.
|Fragaria virginiana herba waiting for harvest. And so patiently.|
|Beloved Trifolium pretense, my long-time friend and ally.|
|Achillea millifolium, again. More to be harvested. More LoVe for the taking. And for the giving. In all directions. Ashe, sweet yarrow. Ashe.|
|The mighty Phytolacca americana. She thinks of buds, them flowers, then fruits. As we all do.|
|Ruta graveolens... the Herb of Grace. |
"Here in this place
I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace;
Rue, even for ruth, shall shortly here be seen,
In the remembrance of a weeping queen."
|Schisandra chinensis ponders ripening fruit that startles and delight with vibrant hue.|
|Actea racemosa (though I *do* still call her Cimicifuga racemosa, privately, a love and honor shared between us). |
Even the pollinators dance about these buds, conjuring their spikes of sweetness, light in the shadow.
|The wild Vitis species. The wild Vitis. There's some wisdom to consider. To embrace. To act upon.|
And I look forward to her flora, fructus and herba.
In Vitas veritas!
|Inula helenium, conjuring her flower stalk, the sentry blooms that watch over a damp and patch of sacred earth on this little acre.|