Sunday, May 8, 2016

Woodland Wild Flowers …


And hearty greetings this fine, albeit overcast and rainy, day as the calendar on the corner of the desk mocks me, it is the first weekend in May. Spring seems to be a fleeting and uncaringly hard mistress this year. Like a temperamental lover, spring has teased and toyed with me most of the season. Tempting me out with moments of bright sunshine to only turn angry with a mixture of hot and dry earlier days that caused one to create little puffs of dust while striding about the landscape or as of late, turning a cold shoulder to me with days of cold and drizzly rain. And while the cold rain has for the most part kept me cloistered from woodland landscape work it has by no means slowed the plants needing tending to maintain a civilized and kept appearance.

The other afternoon, this fickle vixen lured me away from my desk by sending bright shafts of sunlight deep into darken recesses of the house and beckoning me out. With camera in hand, I tentatively stepped out. As a reward for my attention this hardened mistress kissed my cheek with a cool and moist breeze. A breeze so light it seemed like a downy feather brushing my face. My reward for attending too this demanding lover was a visual delight of some of the more delicate wild flowers the woodland has to offer.





Knowing the season was right, I hastily ventured to see if “Her Ladyship” had decided to bestow me with her grace, I was not disappointed. Three years on now, I first discovered this beauty after she had bloomed and all that remained to see that first year was the dried brown husk of the bloom. But I knew straight way I had stumbled on a rarity of the woodland floor. Lady Slipper’s will only germinate in the right conditions so it’s appearance on the property was viewed as a gift from nature. I most pleased also knew that transplanting this finicky orchid was not to be, so I found an unused rose cage and placed it around my discovered treasure, as a small amount of protection, mostly from the threat of my own treading. 



Soon though, with the caprice of a despot I felt the cold drops of rain on my shoulders. My mistress had tired of me and through her coldness I knew it was time to leave. I once again retreated to the warmth of the house as her encouragement that I do so began to fall in heavy, almost icy, drops of rain. Alas, I now wait, I wait once again for the call of this mistress of delight, this mistress of woe, this mistress we call Spring…

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